^ 


K 


m. 


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IPJDRQN  BAItY 


U^M: 


^i}t  ILibrarp 

of  tte 

©nibersitp  of  J^ortl)  Carolina 


Collection  of  Moxtb  Caroliniana 


cX 


UNIVERSITY  OF  N.C.  AT  CHAPEL  H  LL 


6896405 


This  book  may  be  kept  out  one  month  unless  a  recall 
notice  is  sent  to  you.  It  must  be  brought  to  the  North 
Carolina  Collection  (in  Wilson  Library)  for  renewal. 


Form  No.  A-369 


4 


Heart  of  the  Blue  Ridge 


They    went    sedatel}-,    in    all    seeming,    for   the    mountain    folk    are 
chary  in  demonstrations  of  affection 


Heart  of  the  Blue  Ridge 


BT 


WALDRON  BAILY 


FRONTISPIECE  BY 

DOUGLAS  DUER 


w 


I 


New  York 
W.  J.  WATT  &  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


Copyright,  1915,  by 
W.  J.  WATT  &  COMPANY 


Publishtd  May 


PRESS    OF 

BRAUNWORTH    &    CO. 

BOOKBINDERS    AND     PRINTERS 

BROOKLYN,    N.    Y. 


TO 


Jrtting;  ^arl|eller 


WITH   THE    APPRECIATION  OF  THB   AUTHOR 


o 
o 


Heart  of  the  Blue  Ridge 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 


CHAPTER  I 


WHERE  the  trail  bent  over  a  knoll,  Zeke 
halted,  and  put  down  from  his  shoulder 
the  hickory  cudgel  ,with  its  dangling 
valise  of  black  oilcloth — total  of  baggage  with 
which  he  was  faring  forth  into  the  world.  Then, 
he  straightened  himself,  and  looked  back  over  the 
way  he  had  come. 

There,  to  the  east,  the  dusk  of  night  still  lay 
somberly,  hardly  touched  by  the  coming  dawn. 
Through  the  shadows,  the  mountain  masses  loomed 
formidable  and  mysterious,  vaguely  outlined  against 
the  deeper  gloom  of  valleys.  The  melancholy  of  the 
scene  seemed  a  fit  setting  for  the  cottage  that  rested 
invisible  within  the  forest,  a  half-mile  distant  from 
him.  In  imagination,  he  saw  the  withered  old 
woman,  his  mother,  still  standing  on  the  threshold, 
looking  toward  him,  even  as  he  looked  toward  her, 


2  HEART  OF.  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

her  heart  warm  with  love,  her  every  thought  a 
prayer  for  his  happiness.  It  was  borne  in  on  Zeke 
once  again  that  she  would  be  very  lonely  in  her 
desolate  home,  where  death  had  spared  to  her  only 
this  son.  .  .  .  And,  now,  he  was  gone  from  her ! 
A  poignant  sorrow  welled  in  him. 

Zeke  thrust  the  emotion  away,  lest  it  unman  him. 
He  faced  about,  drearily  enough,  and  stood  with 
downcast,  unseeing  eyes,  in  anxious  pondering.  And 
then,  presently,  assuagement  was  granted  him.  He 
lifted  his  gaze,  and  behold!  here  was  another  world, 
all  of  soft  splendors,  of  throbbing  radiance. 

The  eager  beams  of  the  unrisen  sun  shimmered 
above  the  mountain  ranges  of  the  horizon,  and 
streamed  toward  the  zenith  in  a  panoply  of  har- 
monious hues,  colorful  promise  of  the  May  morn- 
ing's joyous  mood.  Of  a  sudden,  under  the  soothing 
influence,  the  watcher  became  listener  as  well.  His 
ears  noted  with  delight  the  glad  singing  of  the  birds 
in  the  wood  around  about.  His  glance  caught  the 
white  gleam  of  the  tiny  belled  blossoms  that  clustered 
on  a  crooked  sour-wood  by  the  path,  and  the  pene- 
trant perfume  of  them  stirred  to  life  a  new  and 
subtler  emotion.  A  flame  of  tenderness  burned  in 
the  clear  hazel  of  his  eyes,  as  he  stared  out  over 
the  trail  before  him.  Under  the  increasing  light 
his  gaze  could  distinguish  the  line  of  the  valley  a 
mile  further  on,  in  which  the  Siddon  cottage  lay 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE  3 

hidden.  His  firmly-set  lips  relaxed  abruptly  into 
a  smile  of  wistful  softness.  He  swung  stick  and 
bag  across  his  shoulder  once  again,  and  set  off 
briskly  down  the  slope  of  the  knoll.  His  thoughts 
were  no  longer  gray  over  the  mother  who  mourned 
his  going:  they  were  roseate  with  anticipations  of 
beholding  the  girl  he  loved.  Now,  the  mood  of  the 
morning  danced  in  his  blood.  The  palpitant  desire 
of  all  nature  in  the  spring  thrilled  through  his  heart. 
His  mind  was  filled  with  a  vision  of  her  gracious 
young  loveliness,  so  soon  to  be  present  before  him 
at  their  meeting.  .  .  .  Their  meeting — their 
parting !  At  thought  of  that  corollary,  a  cold  despair 
clutched  the  lad,  a  despair  that  was  nothing  like  the 
sedate  sorrow  over  leaving  his  mother,  a  despair  that 
was  physical  sickness,  wrenching,  nauseating,  but 
passed  beyond  the  physical  to  rack  the  deeps  of 
being.  For  the  first  time,  jealousy  surged  hideous 
in  him,  born  of  the  realization  that  she  must  be 
left  exposed  to  the  wooing  of  other  men — she,  the 
utterly  desirable!  In  a  fierce  impulse  of  mingled 
fear  and  rage,  he  stopped  short,  and  cried  out : 

"I'll  be  damned  if  they  kin  steal  her!  She's 
mine.     She  done  told  me  so,  and  Plutiny  wouldn't 

lie  r 

From  an  ambush  of  laurel  bushes  close  beside 
the  path,  a  tall,  slender  form  stood  forth,  the  lissome 
figure  of  a  girl  in  the  budding  charm  of  womanhood. 


4  HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

There  was  a  lithe,  curving  beauty  in  the  lines  that 
the  scant  homespun  gown  outlined  so  clearly.  The 
swift  movement  by  which  she  revealed  herself  was 
instinct  with  grace.  As  she  rested  motionless,  with 
arms  extended  in  a  gesture  of  appeal,  there  was  a 
singular  dignity  in  the  pose,  a  distinction  of  per- 
sonality that  was  in  no  wise  marred  by  bare  feet 
and  shapeless  gown;  not  even  by  the  uncouthness 
of  dialect,  when  she  spoke.  And  winsomeness  of 
form  and  bearing  was  crowned  by  the  beauty  of 
her  face,  in  which  the  insipidity  of  regular  features 
was  redeemed  by  exquisite  coloring  of  rose  and 
white,  and  by  the  dusk  brilliance  of  the  eyes.  The 
tender  lips  were  wreathed  to  playful  reproach,  as 
she  addressed  the  lover  for  whom  she  thus  waited 
at  the  dawn : 

"Zekie — oh,  Zekie!  Ye  hain't  a-cussin'  o'  mc, 
be  ye?" 

The  young  man,  surprised,  started,  and  regarded 
the  girl  in  confusion.  The  red  that  had  suffused 
his  tanned  cheeks  deepened  to  a  burning  blush  of 
embarrassment,  as  he  realized  that  his  outburst  had 
been  overheard  by  her  who  had  been  the  cause  of  it. 
But  his  eyes  met  her  quizzical  glance  with  candid 
directness.  After  a  moment,  he  spoke.  All  the 
harshness  was  gone  from  his  voice;  its  soft  drawl 
was  vibrant  with  tenderness. 

"No,  Honey,  I  hain't  a'cussin'  o'  you-all.    I  was 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE  g 

jest  a-mentionin'  some  folks.  But  I  hain't  a- feared. 
Nobody  hain't  a-goin'  to  steal  yer  love  from  me." 

''Nobody — never,  Zeke!"  the  girl  answered,  sim- 
ply. There  was  an  infinite  honesty,  an  unalterable 
loyalty,  in  the  curt  words. 

As  he  listened,  the  flush  died  from  the  lover's 
face;  contentment  shone  in  his  expression. 

"1  knowed  hit,  Honey — I  knowed  hit  all  the 
time.    I  know  when  I  come  back  I'll  find  ye  waitin'." 

"Ye'll  come  back,  I  reckon,  with  fool  idees  'bout 
what  yer  women- folks  ought  to  wear,  like  them 
furriners  down  below."  Her  face  relaxed  into  a 
genial  smile,  which  brought  a  dimple  to  shadow  the 
pink  bloom  of  her  cheek.  But  there  was  a  trace 
of  pensiveness;  the  vague  hint  of  jealousy  in  the 
slow  tones: 

*'Yes,  I'll  be  a-waitin'  till  ye  come,  Zekie.  An' 
if  the  wearin'  o'  shoes  an'  stockin's  '11  make  ye  any 
happier,  why,  I  guess  I  kin  stand  'em — an'  them 
ladies'  straighteners,  too.  Yep,  I'd  wear  'em,  if  they 
did  squeeze  me  fit  to  bust." 

Since  Plutina  had  thus  come  to  meet  him,  there 
was  no  need  that  he  should  follow  further  the  trail 
toward  the  Siddon  cabin,  which  lay  out  of  his 
course.  At  the  girl's  suggestion  that  she  should 
accompany  him  a  little  way  on  the  first  stage  of  his 
journey  out  into  the  world,  the  two  turned  back 
toward  the  broader  path,  which  led  to  the  south- 


6  HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

west  until  it  met  the  North  Wilkesboro'  road.  The 
two  walked  side  by  side,  along  this  lovers'  lane  of 
nature's  kindly  devising.  They  went  sedately,  in 
all  seeming,  for  the  mountain  folk  are  chary  in 
demonstrations  of  affection.  Yet,  beneath  the  aus- 
tere mask  imposed  by  convention,  their  hearts  were 
thrilling  with  the  rapture  each  found  in  the  near 
presence  of  the  other.  The  glamour  of  romance  was 
like  a  golden  mist  over  all  the  scene,  irradiating  each 
leaf  and  flower,  softening  the  bird-calls  to  fairy 
flutings,  draping  the  nakedness  of  distant  rugged 
peaks,  bearing  gently  the  purling  of  the  limpid 
brook  along  which  the  path  ran  in  devious  com- 
placence. Often,  indeed,  the  lovers'  way  led  them 
into  the  shallows,  through  which  their  bare  feet 
splashed  unconcerned.  The  occasional  prismatic 
flash  of  a  leaping  trout  in  the  deeper  pools  caught 
their  eyes.  So,  presently,  the  girl  was  moved  to 
speak — with  visible  effort,  very  shyly,  for  the  ex- 
pression of  her  love  in  words  was  a  thing  unfamiliar, 
difficult. 

'T  sha'n't  have  nobody  to  make  flies  fer  now," 
she  said  dully.  'T  jest  hain't  a-goin'  arter  the  trout 
fer  fun  no  more  till  ye  comes  back." 

Zeke  would  have  answered,  but  he  checked  the 
words  at  his  lips,  lest  the  trembling  of  his  voice 
might  betray  a  feeling  deemed  inconsistent  with 
manliness.    They  went  forward  in  silence,  a-quiver 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE  7 

with  desire  each  of  the  other,  yet  mute  with  the 
forced  repression  of  custom.  Now,  too,  the  sor- 
row of  the  parting  so  close  at  hand,  colored  their 
mood  more  and  more,  so  that  the  golden  glamour 
first  dimmed  and  then  changed  into  a  sinister  pall 
which  overhung  all  the  loveliness  of  the  morning. 
'At  a  turn  in  the  path,  where  it  topped  a  rise,  before 
descending  a  long  slope  to  the  highway,  Zeke  came 
to  a  standstill.  The  girl  paused  obediently  beside 
him.  He  fumbled  in  a  pocket  awkwardly,  and 
drew  forth  a  tiny  square  of  coffee-colored  stone, 
roughly  lined,  which  he  held  out  toward  his  com- 
panion. The  tracery  of  the  crystal  formed  a  Maltese 
cross.  The  girl  expressed  no  surprise.  She  ac- 
cepted the  token  with  a  grave  nod  as  he  dropped  i\ 
into  her  palm,  and  she  remained  gazing  down  at  it 
with  eyes  hidden  under  the  heavy  white  lids  and  long, 
curving  lashes  of  shadowy  brown. 

Zeke  spoke,  very  earnestly: 

"Hit's  fer  good  luck,  Tiny — fer  good  luck  to 
he'p  ye  while  we're  apart.  Mebby,  hit'll  git  in  hits 
work  by  softenin'  the  hardness  o'  yer  gran'pap's 
heart  agin  me." 

In  truth,  the  concentration  of  his  thought  on  the 
fragment  of  stone  had  been  enough  of  itself  to  give 
a  talisman  occult  potence.  That  concentration  of 
desire  for  the  girl's  well-being  was  not  merely  of 
this  moment.     It  had  been  with  him  constantly  dur- 


8  HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

ing  long  hours  of  tedious  clambering  yesterday,  when 
he  followed  the  channel  of  Garden  Creek  through 
its  tortuous  course  among  the  ravines  of  the  Blue 
Ridge,  through  the  narrow  defile  of  the  Devil's 
Garden,  sunless,  strewn  with  rubble  of  boulders, 
with  a  chaos  of  shattered  rock  masses — debris,  super- 
stition said,  of  cataclysm — of  the  Crucifixion,  when 
the  mountain  crests  tore  themselves  asunder,  and 
cast  their  pinnacles  into  the  abyss  for  rage  and  grief. 
The  searcher  had  climbed  on  and  on,  until  he  reached 
the  nook  sacred  to  the  crystals.  For  concerning 
these,  also,  the  superstition  had  its  say,  and  told  that 
the  little  pieces  of  stone,  with  the  cross  marked  on 
each,  were,  in  fact,  the  miraculously  preserved  tears 
shed  by  the  fairies  of  these  fastnesses  in  the  dread 
hour  of  the  Saviour's  anguish.  The  lover  had 
sought  long  for  a  crystal  that  should  be  perfect. 
Now  that  it  lay  within  the  girl's  hand,  he  was  con- 
tent of  his  toil.  Surely,  whatever  the  truth  concern- 
ing its  origin,  it  was  a  holy  thing,  for  the  emblem  it 
bore.  It  would  serve  to  shield  her  against  aught 
evil  that  might  threaten — even  the  grandfather's 
enmity  against  him,  which  set  a  barrier  between 
them  and  happiness.  The  crystal  would  abide  with 
her  in  sign  of  his  love's  endurance,  strong  to  save  her 
and  to  cherish  her  against  any  ill.  He  sighed  with 
relief,  when  she  raised  the  crystal,  and  dropped  it 
within  her  bosom. 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE  9 

Still,  as  always,  fearful  of  showing  emotion  tOQ 
openly,  Zeke  hastened  to  introduce  a  new  topic.  He 
took  from  a  pocket  a  book  of  twelve  two-cent  post- 
age stamps,  to  secure  which  he  had  trudged  the  four 
miles  from  his  mother's  cabin  to  the  Cherry  Lane 
post-office.  The  book,  in  its  turn,  was  proffered  to 
Plutina,  who  accepted  it  in  mild  bewilderment. 

The  lover  explained : 

"Honey,"  he  said,  without  any  embarrassment 
over  the  fact,  "ye  knows  my  ole  mammy  hain't  edi- 
cated,  an'  I  want  ye  to  write  for  her  once  a  month, 
arter  I  write  to  tell  ye  w^har  I'll  be." 

The  girl  nodded  tacit  acceptance  of  the  trust,  and 
consigned  the  stamps  to  a  resting  place  alongside  the 
crystal.    And  then,  after  a  little,  she  spoke  heavily: 

"I  reckon  as  how  you-all  better  be  a-joggin', 
Zeke." 

For  answer,  the  lad  caught  the  girl  in  his  arms, 
and  gave  her  a  kiss  on  either  cheek — the  hearty, 
noisy  smacks  of  the  mountaineer's  courting.  But, 
in  the  next  instant,  he  drew  her  close  in  an  embrace 
that  crushed  the  two  warm  bodies  to  rapture.  His 
lips  met  hers,  and  clung,  till  their  beings  mingled. 
Afterward,  he  went  from  her  voicelessly.  Voice- 
lessly,  she  let  him  go.  .  .  .  There  could  be  no 
words  to  comfort  the  bitterness  of  such  parting. 


CHAPTER  II 

WHEN  he  was  come  within  view  of  Joines' 
mill  and  store  on  Roaring  River,  Zeke 
halted  again  for  a  final  look  back  toward 
the  wild  home  land,  which  he  was  now  leaving  for 
the  first  time.  The  blackness  of  his  mood  after 
parting  with  the  girl  had  passed,  though  melancholy 
still  made  him  its  own.  The  resilience  of  youth 
was  turning  his  spirits  again  toward  the  hopes  that 
had  inspired  this  going  forth  from  his  own  familiar 
little  wilderness  into  the  vast  and  unknown  wilder- 
ness of  the  world  beyond.  As  he  stared  out  at  the 
scattered  peaks,  reared  like  conning  towers  over  the 
sprawling  medley  of  ridge  and  valley,  a  throb  of 
fondness  shook  his  heart.  It  was  not  sprung  from 
esthetic  appreciation  of  the  wild  and  romantic  land- 
scape, though  this  had  been  sufficient  to  justify  the 
stir  of  feeling.  His  sensibility  was  aroused  by  the 
dear  friendliness  of  all  the  scene,  where  hollows  and 
heights  had  been  his  constant  haunts  through  all 
the  days  of  childhood  and  adolescence  until  this 
hour.  Of  a  sudden,  he  realized  as  never  before  a  pro- 
found tenderness  for  this  country  of  beetling  crags 

10 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE         ii 

and  crystal  rivers,  of  serene  spaces  and  balsamic  airs. 
Hitherto,  he  had  esteemed  the  neighborhood  in  some 
dull,  matter-of-course  fashion,  such  as  folk  or- 
dinarily give  to  their  native  territory.  But,  in  this 
instant  of  illumination,  on  the  eve  of  separating 
himself  from  the  place,  love  of  it  surged  within  him. 
This  was  his  home,  the  dwelling  of  his  dear  ones. 
He  felt  toward  it  a  quick  reverence  as  for  something 
strangely  sacred.  His  eyes  went  to  the  great  bulk 
of  Stone  Mountain,  which  jutted  just  before  him 
to  the  east,  its  league  of  naked  rock  lying  like  some 
monstrous  guardian  of  the  place.  Somehow,  the 
dignity  of  the  massive  curving  cliffs  soothed  him, 
heartened  him  anew.  The  immutability  of  the  huge 
mound  of  stone  was  a  prophecy.  Through  the  ages, 
it  had  maintained  its  ward  steadfastly.  So  it  would 
remain.  A  gush  of  confidence  washed  away  the  last 
of  the  watcher's  depression.  He  could  go  on  his 
way  undismayed.  These  things  here  that  were  so 
dear  to  him  would  abide  his  return.  The  old  mother 
and  Plutina  would  rest  secure  against  his  home- 
coming. The  time,  after  all,  would  not  be  long. 
Meantime,  there  was  the  great  adventure.  Zeke 
whirled,  and  trudged  blithely  onward. 

Opportunity  had  come  to  Zeke  Higgins,  and 
he  had  not  hesitated  to  seize  it.  His  desire 
for  a  larger  life  than  that  of  the  tiny,  scrabbly 
mountain  farm  had  been  early  excited;  it  had  per- 


ifi         HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

sisted ;  it  had  increased  steadily,  though  the  possibil- 
ity of  its  realization  had  seemed  remote.  Stark 
poverty  demanded  that  he  remain  to  coax  a  scant 
living  from  the  soil  for  his  mother.  Yet,  his  deter- 
mination was  fixed.  He  got  some  smattering  of 
education,  along  with  Plutina,  from  a  kindly  Quaker 
who  came  among  the  "Boomers"  of  the  Blue  Ridge 
as  a  missionary  school-teacher.  Thus,  Zeke  learned 
surprisingly  much.  His  thirsty  brain  took  up 
knowledge  as  a  sponge  takes  up  water.  So  great 
was  his  gratitude  to  this  instructor  that,  when  the 
stranger  was  revealed  as  a  revenue  officer  questing 
illicit  stills,  Zeke,  despite  inherited  prejudice,  guided 
the  hunted  man  by  secret  trails  over  the  mountains 
into  Virginia,  and  thereby  undoubtedly  saved  a  life. 
Indeed,  the  disappearance  of  the  officer  was  so  well 
contrived  that  the  mountaineers  themselves  for  a 
time  did  not  suspect  the  fact  of  the  escape.  There 
is  a  great  basin  in  the  rock  on  the  north  side  of  Stone 
Mountain.  It  has  been  hollowed  out  through  cen- 
turies by  the  little  stream  that  comes  leaping  madly 
down  the  ledges.  The  cauldron  has  a  sinister  repute. 
It  is  deemed  the  sepulchre  of  more  than  one  spy, 
cast  down  into  the  abyss  from  the  mountain's  brim. 
It  was  generally  believed  that  the  false  school-teacher 
was  of  the  number. 

Somehow,  long  afterward,  report  had  it  that  the 
man  was  alive.     Rumor  implicated  Zeke  as  having 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE        13 

had  a  share  in  the  fellow's  escape.  Old  Dick  Siddon, 
Plutina's  grandfather,  heard.  He  had  hated  the 
"revenuers"  always.  Since  the  death  of  his  only 
son  at  their  hands,  his  hatred  had  become  a  mania. 
He  was  a  strong  man,  fierce  in  anger.  When  he 
bade  his  grandchild  dismiss  her  favored  suitor,  she 
feigned  obedience.  She,  and  Zeke  as  well,  knew  the 
futility  of  fighting  the  old  man's  prejudices.  But, 
with  the  optimism  of  youth,  the  lovers  hoped  for 
happiness.  A  little  older,  they  might  at  least  defy 
the  hostile  guardian.  In  the  meantime,  Zeke  was 
determined  to  attain  material  prosperity  during  the 
period  of  waiting. 

Then,  Richard  Sutton  came  into  the  mountains 
of  the  Blue  Ridge.  He  chanced  on  Zeke,  made  use 
of  the  lad  as  a  guide.  Soon  mutual  liking  and 
respect  developed.  Sutton  was  a  manufacturer  of 
tree-nails — the  wooden  pins  used  in  ships'  timbers. 
Here  in  the  ranges  was  an  abundance  of  locust  tim- 
ber, the  best  for  his  need.  And  there  was  much  talk 
of  a  branch  railway  to  come.  His  alert  business 
imagination  saw  that  a  factory  located  at  the  source 
of  supply  would  be  advantageous.  He  saw,  too,  the 
capacity  for  development  in  his  young  friend.  Zeke's 
familiarity  with  the  region  might  be  valuable — more 
valuable  still  his  popularity  and  the  respect  accorded 
him  in  the  community.  Sutton  suggested  to  the 
young  man  that  he  should  come  to   New  York 


14        HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

presently,  there  to  learn  the  details  of  manufacture, 
with  the  prospect  of  return,  later  on,  to  manage  the 
business  in  the  mountains.  Naturally,  the  project 
was  splendid  to  Zeke's  ambition.  His  only  fear  had 
been  lest  his  departure  be  delayed  by  lack  of  money, 
for  pride  would  not  let  him  confess  his  extremity 
to  Sutton.  There  must  be  some  cash  in  hand  for 
his  mother's  support,  until  he  should  be  able  to  send 
her  more.  Then,  as  he  fretted,  opportunity  favored 
him  anew,  for  a  surveying  party  came  to  run  a 
railroad  branch  north  to  Stone  Mountain.  He  was 
employed  as  ax-man  and  assistant  cook.  His  wages 
solved  the  difficulty,  so  far  as  his  mother's  need 
was  concerned.  For  the  rest,  he  took  only  a  small 
sum  to  his  own  use,  since  he  was  minded  to  work 
his  way  north  on  shipboard  from  Norfolk.  It  was  in 
accord  with  such  high  hopes  that  this  May  morning 
found  him  tramping,  barefooted,  into  Joines'  store, 
with  the  black  oilcloth  valise  slung  from  his  shoulder. 

The  halt  here  was  a  necessary  feature  in  Zeke's 
itinerary.  On  a  previous  visit  to  the  store,  he  had 
purchased  a  pair  of  serviceable,  if  rather  ungainly, 
shoes.  Since  he  would  have  no  occasion  for  their 
use  at  home,  he  had  saved  himself  the  trouble  of 
carrying  them  to  and  fro. 

*T  reckon  I'll  take  them-thar  shoes  o'  mine,"  he 
said  to  the  grizzled  proprietor,  after  an  exchange  of 
friendly  greetings  with  the  few  loungers  present. 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE         15 

These  were  well  aware  of  his  planned  departure, 
though  ignorant  of  his  definite  aims. 

''Ye  hain't  a-goin'  to  put  'em  on  yit,  be  ye?"  the 
storekeeper  inquired,  solicitously. 

''Not  till  I  git  to  North  Wilkesboro',"  Zeke 
answered,  to  the  obvious  relief  of  the  assembly,  as 
he  opened  the  bag.  While  he  was  busy  stowing  the 
shoes,  the  onlookers  commented  cynically  on  the 
folhes  of   fashion. 

"An'  I've  hearn  tell,"  one  concluded,  "that  durn- 
nigh  everybody  done  war  shoes  in  the  city,  all  year 
roun'." 

Perhaps  the  young  man  felt  a  pleasant  glow  of 
superiority  in  reflecting  on  the  fact  that  such  follow- 
ing of  city  fashion  would  soon  distinguish  him.  But 
his  innocent  vanity  was  not  to  be  unduly  flattered. 

"Ca'late  to  stay  away  till  ye've  made  yer  fortin, 
in  course,  sonny?"  one  of  the  older  men  suggested. 
He  enjoyed  some  local  reputation  as  a  w^ag,  the 
maintenance  of  which  so  absorbed  his  energies  that 
his  wife,  who  had  lost  whatever  sense  of  humor  she 
might  once  have  had,  toiled  both  indoors  and  out. 

"Why,  yes,  o'  course,"  Zeke  replied  unsuspect- 
ingly. 

"Better  kiss  we-uns  good-by,  sonny,"  was  the  re- 
tort.    "You-all  '11  be  gone  quite  some  time." 

The  sally  was  welcomed  with  titters  and  guffaws. 
Zeke  was  red  to  the  ears  with  mortification  and 


i6        HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

anger,  as  he  shut  the  vaHse,  shouldered  it,  and  strode 
to  the  door.  But  even  in  the  time  of  that  passing,  he 
mastered  his  mood  in  a  measure.  He  had  no  wish 
to  make  his  farewell  to  these  neighbors  in  bitterness 
of  spirit.  So,  at  the  door,  he  turned  and  grinned 
amiably  on  the  group. 

"I  want  pleasant  things  to  remember  hyarabouts, 
all  thet-thar  long  time  I  got  to  be  away,"  he  said, 
with  a  quizzical  drawl ;  ''so  I  kain't  be  a-kissin'  o'  ye 
none.  My  stomick  hain't  none  so  strong  nohow," 
he  added,  with  the  coarseness  that  usually  flavored 
the  humor  of  the  countryside. 

Then,  abruptly,  the  smile  left  his  lips;  the  lines 
of  his  face  hardened;  the  hazel  eyes  brightened 
and  widened  a  little.  His  low,  slow  voice  came 
firmly,  with  a  note  of  tense  earnestness.  It  was  as 
if  he  spoke  to  himself,  rather  than  to  the  slouching 
men,  who  regarded  him  curiously. 

"I  hain't  leavin'  all  this-hyar  'cause  I  don't  love 
hit,"  he  declared.  'T  do  love  hit,  an'  I  aim  to  come 
back  by-an-bye — I  shore  do!" 

Forthwith,  embarrassed  anew  by  this  unmeditated^ 
outburst,  he  hurried  off,  amid  an  astonished  silence 
which  was  broken  at  last  by  the  storekeeper. 
^  "Thet-thar  Zeke  Higgins,"  he  ventured,  somewhat 
indistinctly  through  his  matting  of  whiskers,  ''I 
swow  if  he  hain't  got  right  feelin's,  fer  all  he's  so 
durn  peart."    And  his  cronies  nodded  assent. 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE         17 

As  he  pressed  onward,  the  adventurer  quickly 
regained  his  poise.  The  novelty  of  the  situation 
thrilled  him  agreeably.  His  thoughts  were  crowded 
with  imaginings  of  the  strange  things  to  come.  Am- 
bitious vision  of  himself  successful  among  the  city's 
throngs  made  his  pulses  beat  faster.  He  felt  that 
he  had  within  him  the  power  to  achieve  something 
worth  while  in  the  world.  Certainly,  he  would  not 
fail  for  lack  of  striving.  But  no  triumph  elsewhere 
could  ever  wean  him  from  his  love  for  the  Blue 
Ridge — for  his  home  country.  Yes,  it  was  as  he 
had  said  there  in  the  store :  He  would  come  back. 
He  would  come  back  to  the  cabin  in  the  "cove"  under 
the  shadows  of  Stone  Mountain — back  to  the  old 
mother,  back  to  Plutina.  A  warmth  of  exquisite 
tenderness  vibrated  through  him,  as  his  hope  leaped 
to  that  home-coming,  to  the  time  when  once  again 
the  girl  should  rest  clinging  on  his  bosom.  And  a 
great  peace  lay  under  all  his  joy  of  anticipation.  His 
love  knew  no  doubt.  She  had  given  her  heart  to 
him.  Through  his  every  wandering,  whatever 
might  betide,  her  love  would  be  with  him,  to  com- 
fort him  in  sorrow,  to  crown  him  in  happiness.  A 
bird's  song  recalled  the  lilt  of  her  laughter.  He  saw 
again  the  tremulous  curving  of  her  mouth,  red 
against  the  fine  warm  pallor  of  her  face  at  parting. 
Passion  welled  in  him.  He  halted  yet  once  again, 
and  stood  with  face  suffused,  gazing  back.    It  was 


i8        HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

as  if  he  were  swayed  by  a  sudden  secret  sense  that 
warned  him  of  her  misery  in  this  hour  of  his  ex- 
altation— her  misery  where  she  lay  prone  under  the 
tangle  of  laurel  by  Garden  Creek,  sobbing  out  that 
anguish  which  is  the  penalty  woman  must  pay  for 
love. 

Zeke's  eyes  fastened  anew  on  the  rounded  bulk 
of  Stone  Mountain's  cliffs.  The  immutability  of 
them,  and  the  majesty,  relieved  the  tenseness  of  his 
mood.  He  resumed  his  way  serenely.  .  .  .  But 
Plutina  wept  on,  unassuaged. 

When  he  drew  near  to  North  Wilkesboro',  where 
he  proposed  to  make  a  first  essay  in  railway  journey- 
ing, Zeke  seated  himself  under  the  shade  of  a  grove 
of  persimmon-trees  by  the  wayside,  there  painfully 
to  encumber  his  feet  with  the  new  shoes.  As  he 
laced  these,  he  indulged  in  soliloquy,  after  a  fashion 
bred  of  his  lonely  life,  on  a  subject  born  of  his  im- 
mediate surroundings. 

"1  hain't  noways  superstitious,"  he  mused  com- 
placently, ''but  this  grove  ain't  no  nice  place,  bein'  as 
it  must  be  a  nigger  cemetery.  Uncle  Dick  Siddon 
says  they's  always  niggers  buried  whar  they's  per- 
simmon-trees, an'  he  says  the  niggers  come  first. 
An'  Uncle  Dick,  he  ought  to  know,  bein'  he's  eighty- 
odd-year  old.  Anyhow,  it  seems  reasonable,  'cause 
niggers  do  swaller  the  stuns  when  they  eats  per- 
simmons, an'  so,  o'  course,  jest  nacher'ly  the  trees 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE         19 

'11  spring  up  where  the  niggers  git  planted.  So 
they'd  be  ha'nts  like  's  not.  But  I  hain't  supersti- 
tious— not  a  mite.  Mr.  Sutton,  he  said  such  things 
as  ha'nts  an'  witch-doctors  an'  such  was  all  plumb 
foolishness.    Still,  my  mammy  has  seen — " 

He  fell  silent,  recalling  old  wives'  tales  of  fear- 
some things  seen  and  heard  of  nights.  The  shoes 
adjusted,  he  took  from  the  black  bag  a  holster, 
which  sheltered  a  formidable-appearing  Colt's  re- 
volver. Having  made  sure  that  the  weapon  was 
loaded  and  in  perfect  order,  Zeke  returned  it  to 
the  holster,  which  he  put  on  snugly  under  the  left 
arm-pit.  These  final  preparations  complete,  he  got 
up,  and  hastened  into  the  town. 

One  bit  more  of  his  musings  he  spoke  aloud,  just 
before  he  entered  the  main  street: 

''No,  I  hain't  superstitious.  But,  by  crickey! 
I'm  plumb  tickled  I  giv  Plutiny  thet  fairy  cross. 
They  say  them  stones  is  shore  lucky." 

At  the  railway  station,  Zeke  asked  for  a  ticket  to 
Norfolk. 

''Want  a  return-trip  ticket  ?"  the  friendly  station- 
agent  suggested.  He  supposed  the  young  mountain- 
eer was  taking  a  pleasure  excursion  to  the  city. 

But  Zeke  shook  his  head  defiantly,  and  spoke  with 
utter  forgetfulness  of  his  experience  in  Joines'  store. 

"No,"  he  declared  stoutly,  "I  hain't  a-comin'  back 
till  Fve  made  my  fortin." 


20        HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

"You'll  be  a  long  time  gone  from  this-here  State 
o'  Wilkes,"  the  agent  vouchsafed  dryly.  He  would 
have  said  more,  but  his  shrewd  eyes  saw  in  this 
young  man's  expression  something  that  bade  him 
pause,  less  sceptical.  The  handsome  and  wholesome 
face  showed  a  strength  of  its  own  in  the  resolute 
curving  nose  and  the  firmly-set  lips  and  the  grave, 
yet  kindly,  eyes,  with  a  light  of  purposeful  intelli- 
gence glowing  within  their  clear  deeps.  The  tall 
form,  broad  of  shoulder,  deep  of  chest,  narrow  of 
hip,  though  not  yet  come  to  the  fulness  of  maturity, 
was  of  the  evident  strength  fitted  to  toil  hugely  at 
the  beck  of  its  owner's  will.  The  agent,  conscious 
of  a  puny  frame  that  had  served  him  ill  in  life's 
struggle,  experienced  a  half- resentment  against  this 
youth's  physical  excellence.  He  wondered,  if,  after 
all,  the  boast  might  be  justified  by  the  event. 

*'Train  in  ten  minutes,"  he  said  curtly,  as  he 
pushed  out  the  ticket. 

So,  presently,  Zeke,  found  himself  seated  for  the 
first  time  on  the  red  plush  seat  of  a  railway  carriage. 
The  initial  stage  of  his  journey  was  ended ;  the  sec- 
ond was  begun. 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  right  of  way  from  North  Wilkesboro' 
to  Greensboro'  runs  through  a  region  where 
every  vista  delights  the  eye  with  wild  and 
romantic  scenes.  The  rails  follow  the  course  of  the 
upper  reaches  of  the  Yadkin  River,  with  swift  suc- 
cession of  vicious  curves  and  heavy  grades.  The 
twistings  of  the  road-bed,  so  advantageous  for  pre- 
senting the  varied  loveliness  of  the  wilds,  were  by 
way  of  being  a  real  torture  to  the  young  adventurer, 
who  sat  in  seeming  stolidity  near  the  rear  door  of 
the  smoking-car,  with  the  black  bag  between  his 
feet.  Even  experienced  travelers  found  the  lunges 
of  the  train  trying  to  their  nerves  as  it  shot  at  speed 
around  "hairpin"  bends,  or  hurled  itself  to  the  fall 
of  a  steeper  descent.  To  Zeke,  who  for  the  first 
time  knew  the  roar  and  jolt  of  such  travel,  this 
trip  was  a  fearsome  thing.  To  sit  movelessly  there, 
while  the  car  reeled  recklessly  on  the  edge  of  abysses, 
was  a  supreme  trial  of  self-control.  The  racking 
peril  fairly  sickened  him.  A  mad  impulse  of  flight 
surged  in  him.  Yet,  not  for  worlds  would  he  have 
let  anyone  guess  his  miserable  alarm. 

21 


22         HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

Nevertheless,  one  there  was  who  apprehended  in 
some  measure  the  ordeal  through  which  the  moun- 
taineer was  passing — happily,  a  kindly  observer. 
An  elderly  man,  across  the  aisle  from  Zeke,  re- 
garded his  fellow  passenger  with  particular  intent- 
ness.  It  seemed  to  him  that,  in  some  vague  way,  the 
clean-cut  face  was  familiar.  His  curiosity  thus 
aroused,  he  perceived  the  tenseness  of  expression  and 
attitude,  and  shrewdly  suspected  the  truth.  It  was 
with  benevolent  intent,  rather  than  for  the  gratifica- 
tion of  inquisitiveness,  that  he  finally  got  up  and 
seated  himself  in  the  vacant  place  alongside  the 
younger  man. 

Zeke's  perturbation  caused  him  to  start  nervously 
at  this  advent  of  a  stranger,  but  a  single  glance  into  ^ 

the  wrinkled,  yet  hale,  face  of  the  man  reassured 
him.  The  visitor's  amiable  character  showed  plainly 
in  his  dim  blue  eyes,  which  twinkled  merrily.   More-  • ; 

over,  there  was  a  sure  witness  of  worth  in  the  empty  f 

sleeve,  pinned  to  his  left  breast,  on  which  showed  | 

the  cross  of  honor.    The  humor  lurking  in  the  eyes  \ 

was  grotesquely  manifested  in  his  first  address: 

^'This-hyar  railroad  hain't  no  fitten  one  fer  be- 
ginners,"  he   announced,   with  a  chuckle.      "Hit's  | 
plumb  likely  to  make  a  squirrel  into  a  nut."  f 

Zeke    smiled,    somewhat    ruefully.      He    under-  ] 

stood  the  play  on  words  since  "boomer,"  the  moun^ 
taineers'  own  name  for  the  red  squirrel,  is  often  S 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE        23 

applied  to  themselves.  But  the  distraction  afforded 
by  the  garrulous  veteran  was  a  relief.  A  new  spur 
was  given  to  their  mutual  interest  when,  after  tell- 
ing his  name,  it  was  discovered  that  his  father  had 
been  a  company-mate  with  Seth  Jones,  the  veteran, 
in  the  Twelfth  North  Carolina  Volunteers.  The  old 
man's  curiosity  was  highly  gratified  by  this  explana- 
tion of  the  inherited  likeness  that  had  puzzled  him, 
and  he  waxed  reminiscent  and  confidential.  The 
diversion  was  welcome  to  his  listener,  where  doubt- 
less many  another  might  have  found  the  narrative 
of  by-gone  campaigns  tedious  in  this  prolix  retell- 
ing. Ultimately,  indeed,  the  youth's  sympathies 
were  aroused  by  Jones'  tale  of  misfortune  in  love, 
wherein  his  failure  to  write  the  girl  he  left  behind 
him  had  caused  her  first  to  mourn  him  as  dead,  and 
eventually  to  marry  her  second  choice. 

"But  I've  jest  got  scrumptious  news,"  he  ex- 
claimed, his  rheumy  eyes  suddenly  clear  and  spark- 
ling. ''Seems  as  how  Fanny's  a  widder.  So,  I'm 
a-goin'  to  try  my  luck,  an'  no  shelly-shallyin',  now 
I've  got  her  located  arter  a  mighty  lot  o'  huntin'. 
Yes,  sir,  sonny,"  he  concluded,  with  a  guffaw,  ''old 
as  I  be,  I'm  a-goin'  a-courtin'.  If  I  ever  see  ye 
ag'in,  I'll  tell  ye  how  it  comes  out.  I  s'pose  I  seem 
plumb  old  fer  sech  foolishness  to  a  boy  like  you  be, 
but  some  hearts  keep  young  till  they  stop.     I'm 


24        HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

pretty  spry  fer  my  age,  too,  if  I  do  say  so  as 
shouldn't." 

Zeke  was  not  so  surprised  by  the  old  man's  hopes 
as  he  might  have  been,  were  it  not  for  the  example 
of  Plutina's  grandfather,  who,  somewhat  beyond 
fourscore,  was  still  scandalously  lively,  to  the  delec- 
tation of  local  gossip.  But,  though  after  the  depart- 
ure of  Jones  at  a  junction,  Zeke  reflected  half- 
amusedly  on  the  rather  sere  romances  of  these  two 
ancient  Romeos,  he  was  far  from  surmising  that, 
at  the  last,  their  amorous  paths  would  cross. 

There  was  still  further  harrowing  experience  for 
Zeke  after  reaching  the  Southern  Railway's  ter- 
minal on  the  pier  at  Pinner's  Point,  in  Virginia, 
for  here  he  was  hurried  aboard  the  ferry-boat,  and 
was  immediately  appalled  by  the  warning  blast  of 
the  whistle.  Few  bear  that  strident  din  undis- 
mayed. This  adventurer  had  never  heard  the  like 
— only  the  lesser  warning  of  locomotives  and  the 
siren  of  a  tannery  across  twenty  miles  of  distance. 
Now,  the  infernal  belching  clamor  broke  in  his  very 
ears,  stunning  him.  He  quivered  under  the  impact, 
stricken  to  the  soul  for  seconds  of  shock.  But  the 
few  careless  eyes  that  chanced  to  scan  the  moun- 
taineer noted  no  faltering  in  face  or  form.  He  stood 
to  all  appearance  serenely,  easily  poised,  his  atti- 
tude replete  with  the  grace  of  physical  power,  his 
mouth  firmly  closed,  his  widely-set  eyes  unwavering. 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE        25 

Even  the  cudgel,  and  the  black  bag  still  dangling 
from  it,  could  not  offset  a  certain  aloof  dignity  that 
masked  distress  by  stern  effort  of  will. 

Nothing  further  occurred  for  a  little  to  afflict 
the  traveler's  unaccustomed  nerves,  and  he  soon 
found  himself  pleasurably  absorbed  in  contempla- 
tion of  the  novel  surroundings.  The  boat  was  near- 
ing  the  Norfolk  landing  when  his  eyes  fell  on  a 
dog,  held  in  leash  by  a  young  woman.  Both  the 
beast  and  its  mistress  commanded  his  instant  atten- 
tion, in  which  wonder  was  the  chief  emotion.  The 
dog  itself  was  a  Boston  bull-terrier,  which  was  a 
canine  species  wholly  strange  to  the  mountaineer's 
experience,  limited  as  it  had  been  to  hounds  and 
mongrels  of  imanalyzable  genealogy.  The  brute's 
face  had  an  uncanny  likeness  to  a  snub-nosed,  heavy- 
jowled  "boomer"  whom  Zeke  detested,  and  he  eyed 
the  creature  askance  by  reason  of  the  resemblance. 

"Hit's  plumb  man-faced,"  was  his  verdict.  "T 
shore  prefer  'em  jest  plain  dawg."  His  eyes  went 
then  from  the  leash  to  the  girl  holding  it,  and  he 
hardly  restrained  a  gasp,  in  which  admiration  was 
mingled  with  amazement.  The  ordinary  observer 
would  have  seen  only  a  pretty  girl,  of  the  fluffy 
blond  type,  smartly  tailored  in  blue  serge,  with  the 
skirt  decorously  slit.  But  Zeke  saw  a  vision  from 
another  world  than  that  of  the  slatternly  mountain 
women,  whose  toil  left  them  neither  opportunity  nor 


26        HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

ambition  for  nicety  in  dress,  which,  indeed,  was 
finally  prohibited  by  ignorance  as  well  as  poverty. 
This  girl  stood  out  in  startling  relief,  marvelous 
revelation  from  the  new  world  he  was  entering. 
Slowly,  with  concentration,  the  young  man  scruti- 
nized the  vision,  noting  every  detail,  from  the  natty 
turban  with  its  swaying  feather  wand  to  the  daintily 
pointed  ties,  above  which  were  to  be  glimpsed  trim 
silk-clad  ankles.  Yet,  the  novel  charm  of  her  failed 
utterly  to  disturb  the  loyalty  of  his  heart.  His  h^m- 
gry  soul  found  exquisite  satisfaction  in  the  spectacle 
of  feminine  refinement  thus  presented  for  the  first 
time,  but  his  devotion  to  the  roughly  garbed  moun- 
tain girl  was  in  no  wise  imperiled.  On  the  con- 
trary, his  imagination  busied  itself  with  an  effort 
to  picture  Plutina  thus  splendidly  arrayed. 

"I  'low  she's  plumb  handsome,"  he  meditated. 
"But,  shucks!  Tiny  beats  her  holler.  In  them 
duds,  she'd  have  her  skun  a  mile.  .  .  .  But  thet- 
thar  man- faced  dawg!  I'd  shore  hate  like  pizen  to 
be  found  daid  along  with  thet  ornery  pup." 

As  he  mused,  no  hint  came  out  of  the  future  as 
to  the  time  when,  in  very  truth,  he  would  be  close 
to  death,  and  that  same  dog  an  actor  in  the  drama, 
one  to  be  deeply  esteemed,  not  contemned.  But 
that  time  was  not  yet.  In  fact,  the  immediate  fu- 
ture was  not  destined  to  remove  his  prejudice 
against  the  buU-tCirrier.     On  the  contrary! 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE        2^ 

The  fixity  of  Zeke's  staring  penetrated  the  girl's 
consciousness.  She  turned  abruptly,  and  her  blue 
eyes  met  his  in  a  cool  glance  that  seemed  to  pass 
through  him  and  on,  as  if  he  were  something  quite 
invisible,  altogether  beneath  notice.  Zeke  felt 
the  rebuke  keenly,  though  innocent  of  intentional 
offense.  The  instincts  of  gentlemanly  blood  from 
which  he  was  somewhere  distantly  descended  made 
him  realize  his  fault  in  manners,  though  he  had  had 
no  guidance  from  experience.  The  ready  blush 
burned  hot  on  brow  and  cheeks;  he  dropped  his 
gaze  confusedly  to  the  dog. 

Even  the  beast,  he  perceived,  reprobated  his  con- 
duct. It  was  staring  up  at  him  fiercely  from  red 
eyes,  and  the  hackles  stood  erect,  though  it  did  not 
growl.  Evidently,  it  resented  undue  attention  to 
its  mistress. 

There  was  a  movement  forward  of  the  passen- 
gers, as  the  ferry-boat  drew  into  its  slip.  Zeke 
advanced  with  the  others,  following  close  behind 
the  girl  and  the  dog,  which  strained  at  the  leasH 
in  order  still  to  stare  menacingly  at  the  young  man. 
Then,  without  warning,  the  action  became  swift 
and  violent.  The  ferry-boat  crashed  against  the 
yielding  walls  of  the  slip.  Zeke,  unprepared  for 
the  shock,  was  thrown  from  his  balance.  One  of 
the  heavy  new  shoes  smashed  down  on  a  paw.  The 
dog  sprang  and  snapped.    The  jaws  missed,  because 


28         HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

the  girl  tugged  at  the  leash  in  the  same  second. 
Zeke  instinctively  kicked  at  the  brute  in  self- 
defense.  His  foot  took  the  animal  fairly  in  the 
jaw,  and  lifted  it  from  the  floor,  just  as  the  girl 
turned.  She  cried  out  in  shrill  anger  at  this  rough 
stranger's  wanton  attack  on  her  pet,  for  so  she 
interpreted  the  event.  She  maintained  her  hold  on 
the  leash  bravely,  lest  worse  follow.  But  her 
strength  was  insufficient  to  restrain  the  creature  of 
fighting  breed.  It  lunged  forward  with  such  sud- 
denness that  both  its  mistress  and  its  enemy  were 
taken  unawares.  The  girl  was  dragged  in  tow. 
Zeke  would  have  leaped  aside,  but  he  was  too  late 
to  escape  the  encounter,  though  he  mitigated  it. 
The  iron  jaws  clanged  shut,  but  in  the  slack  of  the 
victim's  sturdy  jeans,  instead  of  in  the  flesh.  The 
massive  mouth  was  locked  vise-like.  Because  of  the 
cloth's  sturdiness,  the  dog  swung  clear  of  the  floor. 
The  girl  still  strove  frantically,  though  vainly,  at 
the  leash,  shrieking  commands  which  were  un- 
heeded. Zeke,  confused,  chagrined,  ashamed, 
wrathful,  shook  himself  violently  to  be  free,  with- 
out avail.  The  other  passengers  scurried  forth, 
with  a  panic  cry  of  "Mad  dog!" 

Zeke's  wrath  mounted.  He  had  had  little  train- 
ing in  self-restraint,  and  his  passions  were  of  the 
primitive  sort.  Now,  abruptly,  the  lesser  emotions 
were  overwhelmed  by  the  might  of  his  rage.     He 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE        29 

was  conscious  only  of  the  humiliating  fact  that  this 
hideous  man-faced  dog  had  fastened  itself  on 
him,  and  there  hung.  Zeke  bent  and  twisted,  his 
two  hands  on  the  creature's  jaws.  Then  he  set  him- 
self to  wrench  them  apart.  His  strength,  great  as 
it  was  availed  nothing  against  that  remorseless  grip. 
The  resistance  goaded  him  to  fury.  He  gave  over 
the  effort  to  prise  the  teeth  apart,  and  put  all  his 
might  into  a  frenzied  pull.  There  were  instants 
of  resistance,  then  the  hissing  noise  of  rending 
cloth.  A  huge  fragment  of  the  stout  jeans  was 
torn  out  bodily.  Zeke  hurled  the  animal  violently 
from  him.  The  leash  was  snapped  from  the  girl's 
hands.  The  dog's  body  shot  across  the  cabin, 
hurtled  against  the  wall.  The  indomitable  brute 
tumbled  to  the  floor,  and  lay  there  stunned.  But 
even  in  defeat,  he  carried  down  with  him  between 
rigid  jaws  the  blue-jeans  banner  of  victory. 

With  a  bound,  the  girl  crossed  the  space,  and 
fell  on  her  knees  beside  the  inert  form,  crooning 
over  it  pitifully.  In  the  same  moment,  the  gust 
of  anger  in  Zeke  ended.  He  stood  motionless,  ex- 
cept for  his  quickened  breathing,  with  eyes  fast  on 
the  girl.  Remorse  stabbed  him  as  he  realized  her 
distress,  for  which  he  was  responsible.  He  went 
toward  her  hesitatingly,  forgetful  of  bag  and  stick, 
which  had  fallen  at  the  outset  of  the  melee.  He 
.ventured  to  address  her,  stammering  confusedly. 


30        HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

"I  'low  he  hain't  daid,  nor  nothin'  Hke  thet,"  he 
said;  ''jest  takin'  a  nap-Hke."  His  wrath  gave  a 
final  flicker,  as  he  looked  down  at  the  ugly  face 
cushioned  within  the  girl's  hands.  "An  ornery- 
critter  like  thet-thar  pup  ought  to  be  kept  shet-up," 
he  concluded  spitefully. 

The  girl  lifted  a  face  in  which  blue  eyes  were 
flaming. 

'Tt's  you  ought  to  be  shut  up,  you  horrible  man!" 
she  cried.    "And  you  will  be.    I'll  see  to  that." 

"Now,  don't  be  plumb  foolish,"  Zeke  expostulated. 
The     varmint    hain't    hurt    none — not    a    mite. 


"  1  lie 
ma'am." 


Beast !"  the  girl  ejaculated,  concisely. 

Zeke  retorted  with  high  indignation. 

"I  jest  nacher'ly  hain't  a-goin'  to  stand  still  an* 
say  ^Thank  ye !'  while  I'm  bein'  et  up  piecemeal  by 
no  dawg — specially  one  with  a  face  like  his'n." 

He  would  have  said  more,  but  paused  with  mouth 
agape,  eyes  widening,  his  expression  horror- 
stricken.  For,  just  then,  the  bull-terrier  snorted 
loudly,  and  unclosed  its  red  eyes.  The  clenched 
jaws,  too,  relaxed.  Thus  released,  the  broad  strip 
of  jeans  fluttered  to  the  floor.  Its  movement 
caught  Zeke's  gaze.  He  recognized  the  cloth.  The 
ghastly  truth  burst  in  his  brain.  In  an  agony  of 
embarrassment,  he  clasped  his  hands  to  that  portion 
of  his  person  so  fearfully  despoiled.     Moved  by  his 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE        31 

sudden  silence,  impressed  perhaps  by  some  subtle 
impact  of  this  new  and  dreadful  emotion  on  his 
part,  the  girl  looked  up.  She,  too,  had  noted  sub- 
consciously the  fall  of  the  cloth  from  the  dog's 
jaws.  Now.  as  she  saw  the  young  man's  face  of 
fire  and  observed  his  peculiar  posture,  she  under- 
stood. Her  own  crimson  cheeks  rivaled  those  of 
the  afflicted  one.  She  turned  and  bent  low  over 
her  reviving  pet.  Her  shoulders  were  .shaking, 
Zeke  was  shuddering. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  conventions  of  dress  are  sometimes  pes- 
tilential. If  any  doubt  this  truth  let  him 
remember  the  nightmares  wherein  his 
nudity  made  torment.  And,  while  remembering  the 
anguish  such  lack  of  clothing  has  occasioned  in 
dreams,  let  him.  think  with  pity  on  the  suffering  of 
Zeke  whose  plight  was  real.  It  was  in  sooth,  a 
predicament  to  strain  the  savoir  faire  of  the  most 
polished  courtier.  Perhaps,  the  behavior  of  the 
mountaineer  was  as  discreet  as  any  permitted  by 
the  unfortunate  circumstances,  and  could  hardly 
have  been  improved  on  by  the  Admirable  Crichton 
himself.  He  simply  retained  an  immobile  pose, 
facing  the  girl,  with  his  whole  soul  concentrated  in 
desire  that  the  earth  should  split  asunder  to  engulf 
him.  The  tide  of  his  misery  was  at  its  flood,  so  that 
it  grew  no  worse  when  some  deck-hands  thrust  the 
forward  doors  open,  and  a  policeman  bounded  into 
the  cabin,  drawn  revolver  in  hand. 

But  the  bull-terrier  Was  to  escape  the  fate  un- 
justly inflicted  on  so  many  of  its  fellows.     The 

32 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE        33 

girl,  crouching  over  the  dog,  barred  the  poHceman's 
purpose. 

''Get  away  from  him,  miss,"  the  officer  directed. 
''He  ain't  safe,  even  if  he's  quiet.  I  know  mad 
dogs.    A  bullet's  the  only  medicine." 

*'Chub  isn't  mad  in  the  least,"  the  girl  snapped; 
"though  he's  been  through  enough  to  make  him 
crazy — and  so  have  I.  If  you're  so  anxious  to  do 
your  duty,  officer,"  she  added,  bitterly,  "why  don't 
you  arrest  that  horrid,  hulking  man  over  there?" 
She  pointed  a  neatly  gloved,  accusing  finger  at  the 
motionless  Zeke,  who  was  staring  fixedly  at  the 
point  where  he  hoped  the  abyss  might  yawn. 

"What's  he  done?"  the  policeman  inquired  gruffly. 
He  was  miffed  over  this  lost  opportunity.  The 
slayer  of  a  mad  dog  is  always  mentioned  as  a  hero 
in  the  newspapers. 

The  girl  stood  up.  The  dog,  at  the  end  of  the 
leash,  also  stood  up,  and  shook  itself.  It  had,  to 
all  seeming,  recovered  fully.  It  regarded  Zeke  in- 
tently from  its  red  eyes.  But  it  did  not  growl.  It 
was  plain  that  the  bull-terrier  was  thinking  deeply, 
and  that  Zeke  was  the  center  around  which  though'^ 
revolved.  But,  if  the  dog  did  not  growl,  its  mistress 
showed  no  lessening  of  hostility.  She  explained 
succinctly  to  the  representative  of  the  law: 

"He  assaulted  my  dog — with  his  feet  and  his 
hands," 


34        HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

"And  maybe  he  bit  him,  too!"  the  policeman 
suggested,  with  heavy  sarcasm.  He  could  not  for- 
give this  pretty  girl  for  foiling  his  heroism. 

The  girl  did  not  heed.  Her  white  brow  was 
wrinkled  in  a  frown.  She  was  recalling,  with  an 
effort,  her  somewhat  meager  knowledge  of  legal 
terms. 

"I  shall  charge  him  with  homicidal  assault,"  she 
announced  firmly. 

"I  hope  you'll  tell  that  to  the  sarge,"  the  officer 
chuckled,  his  pique  forgotten  in  appreciation  of  the 
girl's  naive  announcement.  "V\\  take  this  chap  to 
the  station-house.  You'll  appear  against  him, 
miss?"  The  girl  nodded  emphatically.  He  turned 
on  Zeke,  frowning.  ''Come  on  quiet,  young  feller, 
if  you  know  what's  good  for  ye."  His  practiced 
eye  studied  the  young  mountaineer's  physique 
respectfully. 

Zeke  made  no  movement,  nor  answered  nor 
lifted  his  eyes.  The  policeman  attributed  this  de- 
meanor to  recalcitrancy.  He  put  the  revolver  in 
his  pocket,  drew  his  club  and  took  a  step  forward. 
Yet,  he  sensed  something  unfamiliar  in  the  situ- 
ation; the  stiff  posture  of  the  arms  and  hands  of 
the  culprit  attracted  his  attention.  He  felt  vaguely 
that  something  of  a  painful  nature  was  toward.  He 
stopped  short,  puzzled,  and  spoke; 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE         35 

"What's  the  matter  with  ye,  anyhow?"  he  de- 
manded fiercely.     "Hain't  ye  got  any  tongue?" 

Then,  at  last,  Zeke  raised  his  eyes.  They  went 
first  to  the  forward  door,  to  make  sure  that  the 
girl  had  vanished.  There  were  only  two  mildly  in- 
terested deck-hands  in  the  cabin,  beside  the  police- 
man, though  soon  the  place  would  be  filled  with 
newly  arriving  passengers.  He  looked  at  the  offi- 
cer squarely,  with  despair  in  his  expression : 

"Hit  ain't  my  tongue — hit's  my  pants!"  he  said 
huskily.  *'Hit's  the  seat  of  my  pants.  Hit's — hit's 
thar!"  He  nodded  toward  the  strip  of  jeans  left 
on  the  floor  by  the  dog. 

The  policeman  stared  at  the  fragment  of  cloth, 
then  his  gaze  returned  appreciatively  to  the  victim's 
hands.  He  threw  his  head  back  and  bellowed  with 
laughter,  echoed  raucously  by  the  deck-hands.  Zeke 
waited  grimly  until  the  merriment  lessened  a  little. 

"I  hain't  a-stirrin'  nary  a  step  to  no  jail-house,'* 
was  his  morose  announcement,  "unless  somebody 
gits  me  some  pants  with  a  seat  to  'em." 

The  policeman  liked  his  ease  too  well  to  fight 
needlessly,  and  he  had  an  idea  that  the  thews  and 
sinews  of  the  boomer  might  make  a  good  account 
of  themselves.  Moreover,  he  was  by  way  of  being 
a  kindly  soul,  and  he  apprehended  in  a  measure  the 
young  man's  misery. 

"Can  you  dig  up  a  pair  of  jumpers?"  he  asked 


36         HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

the  deck-hands.  "You  can  have  'em  back  by  call- 
ing at  the  station  to-morrow." 

In  this  manner,  the  difficulty  was  bridged.  Clad 
in  the  dingy  and  dirty  borrowed  garment,  the  burn- 
ing shame  fell  from  Zeke,  and  he  w^as  once  again 
his  own  man.  Nevertheless,  he  avoided  looking 
toward  the  piece  of  torn  cloth  lying  on  the  floor,  as 
he  went  out  with  the  policeman.  He  only  wished 
that  he  might  with  equal  ease  leave  behind  all  mem- 
ory of  the  lamentable  episode. 

Zeke's  tractability  increased  the  favorable  im- 
pression already  made  on  the  officer  by  the  moun- 
taineer's wholesome  face  and  modest,  manly  bear- 
ing. It  was  evident  that  this  was  no  ordinary  rake- 
helly boomer  come  to  town.  There  was,  too,  the 
black  bag  to  witness  that  the  prisoner  was  an  hon- 
est voyager.  On  the  way  to  the  station,  the  con- 
stable listened  with  unusual  patience  to  Zeke's  curt 
account  of  the  misadventure,  and  the  narrative  was 
accepted  as  truth — the  more  readily  by  reason  of 
some  slight  prejudice  against  the  dog,  which  had 
failed  as  an  exploiter  of  heroism.  In  consequence, 
the  policeman  grew  friendly,  and  promised  interces- 
sion in  his  captive's  behalf.  This  was  the  more 
effective  when,  on  arrival  at  the  station-house,  it 
was  learned  that  the  girl  with  the  dog  had  not 
appeared.  Nor  was  there  sign  of  her  after  a  period 
of  waiting.     The  sergeant  at  the  desk  decided  that 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE        37 

there  could  be  no  occasion  to  hold  the  prisoner.  But 
he  frowned  on  the  deadly  weapon,  which  the  usual 
search  had  revealed. 

"  'Twon't  do  for  you  to  go  totin'  that  cannon 
promiscuous/'  he  declared.  "You  shore  don't  need 
a  gun — ^you  shore  do  need  breeches.  What's  the 
answer?  .  .  .  Hock  the  gun,  and  buy  some 
pants." 

Thus  simply  did  an  alert  mind  solve  all  difficul- 
ties of  the  situation. 

So  in  the  end,  Zeke  issued  safely  from  his  first 
bout  with  mischance  and  found  himself  well  con- 
tent, for  his  dress  now  was  more  like  that  of  the 
men  about  him.  The  new  trousers  were  full  length, 
which  the  jeans  had  not  been,  and  the  creases  down 
the  legs  were  in  the  latest  style.  The  salesman  had 
so  stated,  and  Zeke  observed  with  huge  satisfaction 
that  the  stiffness  of  the  creases  seemed  to  mark  the 
quality  of  the  various  suits  visible  in  the  streets. 
And  his  own  creases  were  of  the  most  rigid!  Zeke 
for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  felt  that  warm  thrill 
which  characterizes  any  human  integer,  whether 
high  or  low,  when  conscious  of  being  especially  well 
dressed. 

Followed  an  interval  of  loitering.  The  sights  of 
the  town  formed  an  endless  panorama  of  wonder 
to  the  lad's  eager  vision.  Though  he  was  a  year  past 
the  age  of  man's  estate,  this  was  his  first  opportunity 


38        HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

of  beholding  a  town  of  any  size,  of  seeing  face  to 
face  things  of  which  he  had  heard  a  little,  had 
read  more.  His  fresh,  receptive  mind  scanned 
every  detail  with  fierce  concentration  of  interest, 
and  registered  a  multitude  of  vivid  impressions  to 
be  tenaciously  retained  in  memory. 

And  ever  with  him,  as  he  roamed  the  streets, 
went  a  tall  slender  girl,  barefooted,  garbed  in  home- 
spun, with  great  dark  brown  eyes  that  looked  ten- 
derly on  him  from  beneath  the  tumbled  bronze 
masses  of  her  hair.  No  passer-by  saw  her,  but  the 
mountaineer  knew  her  constant  presence,  and  with 
her  held  voiceless  communion  concerning  all  things 
that  he  beheld.  His  heart  exulted  proudly  over  the 
bewildering  revelations  of  many  women,  both  beau- 
tiful and  marvelously  clad  in  fine  raiment — for  this 
girl  that  walked  with  him  was  more  radiantly  fair 
than  any  other. 

It  was  late  afternoon  when,  finally,  Zeke  aroused 
himself  to  think  of  the  necessities  of  his  position. 
Then,  after  a  hasty  and  economical  meal  at  a  lunch 
counter  near  the  water-front,  he  made  haste  to  the 
pier,  where  his  attention  was  at  once  riveted  on  an 
Old  Dominion  Liner,  which  was  just  backing  out 
into  the  river.  He  watched  the  great  bulk,  fascinated, 
while  it  turned,  and  moved  away  down  the  harbor, 
to  vanish  beyond  Sewall's  Point,  on  its  way  toward 
Hampton  Roads.     Immediately  afterward,  his  at- 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE         39 

tention  was  attracted  to  a  much  smaller  steamer, 
which  drew  in  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  wharf. 
There  chanced  to  be  no  one  else  near,  and,  as  the 
boat  slid  into  the  slip,  a  man  in  the  bow  hurled  a 
coil  of  rope  toward  Zeke,  with  an  aim  so  accurate 
that  it  fell  across  Zeke's  shoulder. 

*'Don't  dodge  it,  you  lubber !"  the  man  roared,  in 
answer  to  the  mountaineer's  instinctive  movement. 
"Haul  it  in,  an'  make  fast  to  the  punchin'." 

Zeke  obeyed  readily  enough,  hauled  in  the  hawser, 
and  made  the  loop  fast  over  the  piling.  At  the 
same  moment,  he  saw  two  negroes,  blacker  from 
soot  and  grime  than  nature  had  made  them,  who 
leaped  down  from  the  deck,  and  scampered  out  of 
sight.  He  heard  the  captain  in  the  pilot-house 
shouting  down  the  tube. 

*There  go  your nigger  stokers  on  the  run." 

Zeke  could  both  see  and  hear  the  man  in  the 
engine-room,  who  vowed  profanely  that  he  would 
ship  a  pair  of  white  men,  to  sail  before  ten  that 
night.  It  seemed  to  the  listener  that  the  situation 
might  develop  to  his  advantage.  When,  presently, 
the  captain  descended  to  the  dock,  Zeke  made  bold 
to  accost  that  red-faced  and  'truculent-appearing 
person.  Much  to  his  surprise,  his  request  for  work 
met  with  an  amiable  reply.  The  captain  verified 
what  Zeke  already   knew,   that  the  engineer  had 


40        HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

need  of  men,  and  bade  the  inquirer  get  aboard  and 
offer  himself. 

In  the  engine-room,  the  harried  chief  scowled  on 
the  intruder. 

*'What  the  devil  do  you  want?"  he  cried  harshly. 

But  Zeke's  purpose  was  too  earnest  to  be  put 
down  by  mere  ungraciousness. 

*'Work,"  he  replied  with  a  smile. 

Something  in  the  applicant's  aspect  mitigated  the 
engineer's  asperity. 

"Ever  fire  a  boiler?"  he  questioned,  more  affably. 

"Yes,  an'  no,"  Zeke  answered;  "not  any  real 
steam  b'iler.  But,  when  hit  comes  to  keepin'  a 
hick'ry  fire  under  a  copper  kittle,  an'  not  scorchin' 
the  likker,  wall,  I  'lows  as  how  I  kin  do  hit.  An' 
when  it  comes  to  makin'  o'  sorghum  m'lasses,  I  hain't 
never  tuk  off  my  hat  to  nobody  yit.  Fer  the  keepin' 
o'  proper  temp'rature  folks  says,  I'm  'bout's  good's 
anybody  in  Wilkes." 

"Humph! — boomer,"  the  engineer  grunted,  and 
there  was  silence  for  a  moment.  When  next  he  spoke, 
his  manner  was  kindly. 

"Those  niggers  of  mine  skedaddled  'cause  they're 
lazy  and  worthless.  But  the  stoke-hole  is  hell,  all 
right.  It  ain't  no  place  for  a  youngster  like  you. 
I'll  hustle  round  to  the  gin-mills  an'  get  hold  of  a 
pair  of  tough  guys.  But  there's  something  else," 
he  went  on,  as  Zeke's  face  fell.     "If  you  can  make 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE        41 

sorghum  molasses  and  moonshine  without  scorchin* 
'em,  you'll  fill  the  bill,  I  reckon.  We  cruise  off  the 
coast  for  menhaddin — fat  backs — for  the  oil  in  'em. 
We  carry  steam-jacket  kettles.  I've  got  a  green 
man  now  who's  no  good.  I'll  fire  him  and  take  you 
on.  Thirty  a  month  and  your  board — more  by-and- 
bye,  if  you  suit." 

Zeke,  elated  at  this  opportunity,  felt,  nevertheless, 
that  honesty  required  of  him  some  further  explana- 
tion. But  the  engineer  dismissed  consideration  of 
the  future. 

"A  month  will  give  you  enough  for  your  fare  to 
New  York.  If  you  ain't  pressed  for  time,  a  voyage 
will  do  you  good.  But  don't  let  the  captain  get  a 
sight  of  that  black  bag,  or  it'll  go  overboard.  Sailors 
are  afeared  of  'em,"  he  chuckled.  ''The  Netise, 
my  old  ship,  ran  into  The  Blanche  off  Creek  Beacon, 
in  a  fog,  and  sunk  her.  We  rescued  officers  and 
crew,  but  the  captain — Smith,  his  name  was — 
couldn't  stop  cussin'  'cause  he'd  allowed  a  nigger 
mammy  to  go  aboard  as  a  passenger  along  with  her 
old  black  bag,  which  was  the  why  of  the  wreck, 
'cording  to  his  way  of  thinking.  Took  his  friends 
nigh  onto  a  year,  to  convince  him  that  The  Neuse 
was  to  blame  for  the  collision.  I  suspect  he'll  al- 
ways have  it  on  his  conscience  that  he  did  finally  col- 
lect   damages    off    our    owners."     The    engineer 


42        HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

chuckled  again.     "Stow  your  bag  under  your  bunk 
in  the  fore  peak  before  the  captain  comes  aboard." 

The  Bonita  was  a  stanchly  buih  and  seaworthy 
craft  with  a  draft  of  less  than  twelve  feet  under  full 
cargo,  which  made  possible  her  use  of  the  shorter 
and  smoother  inland  water-way  from  Norfolk  to 
Beaufort,  North  Carolina,  where  was  the  factory. 
Zeke,  who  would  remain  idle  until  the  first  catch  of 
fish,  went  early  to  his  bunk  the  first  evening  aboard, 
wearied  by  the  long  and  exciting  day.  He  had,  in- 
deed, scarce  time  to  contemplate  a  guardian  vision 
of  Plutina  ere  his  senses  were  locked  in  slumber, 
and  his  next  consciousness  was  of  a  dim  morning 
light  struggling  into  the  gloom  of  the  stuffy  peak, 
and  the  jolting  rhythm  of  the  engine,  which  an- 
nounced that  the  voyage  was  begun.  When  he  hur- 
ried on  deck,  he  was  at  first  disappointed  to  learn 
that  the  boat  was  still  some  distance  from  the  open 
sea,  for  which  he  longed  with  all  an  inlander's 
curiosity  over  the  mystery  of  endless  waters.  The 
Bonita  was  now  working  forward  slowly  through 
the  old  Dismal  Swamp  Canal,  to  reach  the  Pasquo- 
tank River  and  Albemarle  Sound.  Zeke's  astonished 
eyes  perceived  in  every  direction  only  the  level,  mel- 
ancholy expanse  of  the  swamp.  His  sensitive  soul 
found,  nevertheless,  a  strange  charm  and  beauty 
in  the  scene.  There  was  space  here,  even  as  in  the 
mountains.    Yet  this  calm  was  not  of  strength;  he 


J 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE        43 

felt  vaguely,  like  that  he  had  known,  but  the  tran- 
quillity of  nature  in  another,  a  weaker,  less-whole- 
some mood,  apathetic,  futile.  The  thickly  dotting 
cypresses  and  junipers,  bedecked  with  streaming 
draperies  of  Spanish  moss,  touched  the  vistas  with 
a  funereal  aspect.  The  languid  movement  of  the 
festoons  under  the  breeze  was  like  the  sighings  o£ 
desolation  made  visible.  The  dense  tangle  of  the 
undergrowth  stretched  everywhere,  repellent,  un- 
relieved by  the  vivid  color  flashes  of  the  mountain 
blossoms.  Stagnant  wastes  of  amber-hued  water 
emphasized  the  dreariness. 

Zeke's  spirits  were  too  exultant  to  suffer  more 
than  a  fleeting  depression  from  this  first  survey  of 
the  waste.  He  realized  how  unjust  his  impressions 
might  be  when  he  learned  that  this  seemingly  filthy 
water  was  highly  esteemed.  The  deck-hand,  filling 
the  water  barrel  from  a  pail  let  over  the  ship's  side, 
explained  the  swamp  water's  virtues. 

*'A11  the  capens  fill  their  barrels  with  it.  Juniper 
w^ater  cures  chills  an'  fever,  an'  keeps  'em  off  if  ye 
hain't  got  'em.  Some  says  it's  better  'n  gin  for  the 
kidneys."    But  the  deck-hand  looked  doubtful. 

Zeke,  still  suspicious  because  of  the  unlikeness  of 
this  liquid  to  the  crystal-clear  element  of  the  moun- 
tains, essayed  an  experimental  swallow,  then  spat 
disgustedly. 

"Hit  may  be  all  right  fcr  med'cine,  or  yarb  tea," 


^44        HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE       • 

was  his  verdict,  "but  it  needs  real  water  to  wash  it 
down." 

The  progress  was  tediously  slow,  for  a  strong 
southwest  wind  had  come  on,  which  lowered  the 
water  in  the  canal,  so  that  The  Bonita  often  went 
scraping  along  the  bottom,  and  betimes  stuck  fast  in 
the  mud.  When  they  were  come  to  the  Lake  Drum- 
mond  region,  Captain  Lee  decided  to  tie  up  until  a 
change  or  falling  of  the  wind,  with  its  consequent 
rise  of  water  in  the  channel.  At  the  point  where 
they  finally  made  fast  to  the  bank,  there  was  an  old 
trail,  a  woods  road  long  abandoned,  running  off  into 
the  jungle.  Zeke  promptly  set  off  to  explore  this, 
and  almost  at  once  espied  a  wild  turkey;  a  plump 
gobbler,  feeding  in  the  path  before  him.  There 
could  be  no  doubt  as  to  the  acceptability  of  such 
food  aboard  and  Zeke  hastened  back  to  The  Bonita, 
where  the  captain  gladly  loaned  him  a  rifle.  Thus 
equipped,  Zeke  returned  to  the  wilderness  trail.  He 
was  not  surprised  to  find  that  the  turkey  had  van- 
ished, nor  disheartened,  for  he  was  sure  that  a  little 
patience  would  bring  him  in  sight  of  game,  and  there 
was  leisure  a  plenty  since  an  interval  must  elapse 
after  a  change  in  the  wind  before  the  deepening  of 
the  water.  Within  a  half-hour,  he  shot  a  turkey 
from  its  perch  in  a  cypress.  With  much  satisfaction, 
Zeke  swung  the  gobbler,  which  was  big  and  fat,  over 
his  shoulder,  and  set  out  to  return.    Almost  at  once, 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE        45 

however,  his  steps  were  arrested  by  the  faint  baying 
of  a  hound.  As  he  Hstened,  the  sound  grew  louder, 
as  if  the  dog  drove  its  quarry  toward  him.  The  in- 
stinct of  the  chase  dominated  the  mountaineer.  He 
cast  down  the  turkey,  and  waited,  hopeful  that  a 
deer  or  bear  might  cross  the  path  within  range. 

Soon,  he  heard  a  noisy  crackling  of  underbrush 
a  little  to  his  right,  but  near  at  hand.  With  the 
rifle  in  readiness  Zeke  peered  from  the  concealment 
of  a  cypress  trunk.  But  it  was  neither  the  lithe 
leaping  form  of  a  deer,  nor  the  uncouth  shambling 
bulk  of  swamp  bear  that  broke  from  the  cover  a 
moment  later.  Instead,  there  lurched  into  view  a 
huge  negro.  The  fugitive's  clothing  hung  in  shreds, 
witness  of  the  cat's-briar  claws;  his  face,  from  the 
same  cause,  was  torn  and  bleeding.  The  breath 
wheezed  loudly  through  the  open  mouth;  the  sweat 
ran  in  streams  from  the  face ;  the  eyes  rolled  whitely. 
There  was  terror  in  his  expression.  He  carried  a 
thick  club.  Now,  as  he  came  to  a  halt,  it  was  plain  to 
the  watcher  that  the  runner's  fear  had  at  last  driven 
him  to  make  a  stand,  when  he  could  flee  no  further. 
Zeke  had  no  difficulty  in  understanding  the  situation 
sufficiently  well.  The  negro  was  undoubtedly  a 
criminal  who  had  fled  in  the  hope  of  refuge  from 
the  law  in  the  swamp's  secret  lurking  places.  Now 
trailed  by  the  dog,  he  was  brought  to  bay.  Zeke 
determined,  as  a  measure  of  prudence,  to  remain  in- 


46        HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

active  until  the  issue  between  man  and  dog  should 
be  adjusted.  Otherwise,  he  might  find  himself  en- 
gaged against  both  man  and  beast  with  only  a  single 
bullet  to  his  aid. 

The  querulous  cries  of  the  dog  here  and  there 
showed  that  the  scent  had  been  lost  where  the  negro 
had  splashed  through  some  pool.  Then,  abruptly,  a 
sharp  volley  announced  recovery  of  the  track.  A 
minute  later  a  huge  black-and-tan  body  catapulted 
from  the  thicket  into  the  open  space  of  the  trail. 
From  his  cover,  Zeke  watched  excitedly.  The 
negro,  who  had  stood  with  club  swung  back  ready 
for  the  blow,  was  caught  at  disadvantage  by  the  pur- 
suer's emergence  at  an  unexpected  point.  The 
branches  of  the  thicket  projected  to  prevent  a  blow. 
The  dog,  silent  now,  hurled  itself  straight  at  the 
man's  throat.  But  the  negro,  alert  to  the  peril, 
avoided  the  charge  by  a  swift  spring  to  the  side. 
Zeke  heard  the  great  jaws  of  the  beast  click  shut 
as  it  shot  harmlessly  past  its  foe ;  he  heard  the  sav- 
age growl  with  which  it  whirled  to  renew  the  attack. 
As  it  leaped  a  second  time  the  negro's  club  fell  true 
in  a  mighty  stroke — caught  the  creature  fair  on  the 
skull,  stopped  it  in  midair,  dropped  it  dead  to  the 
ground. 

Zeke's  turn  in  the  action  w^as  come,  at  last.  Even 
as  the  negro  stood  gloating  over  his  victory,  the 
mountaineer,  with  leveled  rifle,  stepped  from  the 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE        47 

concealment  of  the  cypress,  and  cried  a  sharp  com- 
mand : 

''Drop  thet-thar  club,  an'  stand  still  whar  ye  be, 
if  ye  don't  want  to  be  kilt!" 

The  effect  on  the  exultant  negro  was  almost  piti- 
ful. Where  had  been  the  assurance  of  final  escape 
was  now  the  certainty  of  capture.  The  shock  of 
contrasting  emotions  was  too  much  for  the  fellow's 
strength,  coarse-fibered  and  hardened  as  he  was.  He 
stared  at  Zeke  with  protruding  eyes,  his  face  grown 
gray.  His  thrilling  joy  in  the  slaying  of  the  dog 
was  lost  in  the  black  despair  of  defeat.  The  club 
fell  from  the  trembling  fingers,  and  in  the  next 
moment  the  man  himself  sagged  to  the  ground  and 
crouched  whimpering,  whining,  in  a  child-like  aban- 
don to  fatigue  and  grief.  Then,  presently,  while  the 
captor  watched  in  some  perplexity,  the  moaning 
ceased.  In  its  stead  came  a  raucous  rhythm — the 
sleep  of  utter  exhaustion. 

A  sound  of  footsteps  on  the  path  caught  Zeke's 
ear.  He  turned,  and  saw  close  at  hand  a  short, 
stockily  built,  swarthy-complexioned  man  of  middle 
age,  who  came  swinging  forward  at  a  lope.  The 
newcomer  halted  at  sight  of  the  mountaineer. 

**Seen  anything  of  a  big  nigger  or  a  hound  passing 
this  way?"  he  demanded. 

Zeke  nodded,  gravely. 

''Ye'll  find  the  two  of  'em  right  thar."    H@  raised 


7 


48        HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

the  rifle,  which  the  other  man  now  observed  for  the 
first  time,  and  with  it  pointed  to  where,  beyond  the 
cypress-tree,  the  negro  huddled,  breathing  stertor- 
ously,  beside  the  dead  body  of  the  dog. 


CHAPTER  V 

DUN  clouds  of  tragedy,  crimson-streaked  with 
sinister  romance,  shadow  the  chronicles  of 
the  forty-mile  square  that  makes  the  Dis- 
mal Swamp.  Thither,  aforetime,  even  as  to-day, 
men  fled  into  the  labyrinthine  recesses  to  escape  the 
justice — or  the  injustice — of  their  fellows.  Run- 
away slaves  sought  asylum  within  its  impenetrable 
and  uncharted  mazes  of  thicket  and  quaking  earth, 
of  fetid  pool  and  slithering  quicksands.  Such  fugi- 
tives came  no  more  after  the  emancipation.  Instead 
of  slaves,  there  were  black  men  who  had  outraged 
the  law,  who  fled  into  the  steaming,  noxious  waste 
in  order  to  evade  the  penalty  for  crime.  For  a  time, 
these  evil-doers  were  hunted  through  the  tortuous 
trails  in  the  canebrakes  with  blood-hounds,  even  as 
their  predecessors  had  been.  But  the  kennels  of  the 
man-hunting  dogs  were  ravaged  by  the  black  tongue, 
soon  after  the  ending  of  the  Civil  War.  Poisoners, 
too,  took  toll  of  the  too  intelligent  brutes.  The 
strain  rapidly  grew  less — became  extinct.  Whereat, 
the  criminals  of  Dismal  Swamp  rejoiced  in  unholy 
glee.    Their  numbers  waxed.    Soon,  they  came  to  be 

49 


50        HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

a  serious  menace  to  the  peace  and  safety  of  the  com- 
munities that  bordered  on  the  infested  region. 

One  sufferer  from  these  conditions  so  resented  the 
depredations  of  maraude,rs  that  he  bought  in  Eng- 
land two  splendid  stag-hounds,  keen  of  scent,  in- 
telligent, faithful  to  their  task,  strong  enough  to 
throttle  their  quarry,  be  it  deer  or  man.  By  the  aid 
of  these  creatures,  many  criminals  were  captured. 
Their  owner,  by  the  intrepidity  of  his  pursuit,  was 
given  a  nickname,  ''Cyclone"  Brant.  The  speed  and 
force  and  resistlessness  of  him  justified  the  designa- 
tion. Together  with  his  dogs.  Jack  and  Bruno,  he 
won  local  fame  for  daring  and  successful  exploits 
against  the  lurking  swamp  devils.  It  was  this  man 
who  now,  canvas-clad,  with  rifle  in  hand,  looked  in 
the  direction  indicated  by  Zeke.  He  was  dripping 
wet,  plastered  with  slime  of  the  bogs.  For  a  few 
seconds,  he  stood  staring  in  silence.  Then  a  little, 
gasping  cry  broke  from  his  lips.  He  strode  for- 
ward, and  fell  to  his  knees  beside  the  body  of  the 
dog.  He  lifted  the  face  of  the  hound  gently  in  his 
two  hands,  and  looked  down  at  it  for  a  long  time. 

There  was  a  film  of  tears  in  Brant's  eyes  when,  at 
last,  he  put  the  head  of  the  dog  softly  back  on  the 
earth,  and  stood  up,  and  turned  toward  the  moun- 
taineer. He  made  explanation  with  simple  direct- 
ness. The  negro  was  a  notorious  outlaw,  for  whose 
capture  the  authorities  of  Elizabeth  City  offered  a 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE         51 

reward  of  five  hundred  dollars.  Half  of  this  sum 
would  be  duly  paid  to  Zeke. 

This  news  stirred  the  young  man  to  the  deeps. 
To  his  poverty-stricken  experience,  the  amount  was 
princely.  The  mere  mention  of  it  made  privations 
to  vanish  away,  luxuries  to  flourish.  He  had  roseate 
visions  of  lavish  expenditures :  a  warm  coat  for  the 
old  mother,  furbelows  for  Plutina,  "straighteners'' 
even,  if  she  would  have  them.  The  dreamer 
blushed  at  the  intimacy  of  his  thought.  It  did  not, 
occur  to  his  frugal  soul  that  now  he  need  not  con-r 
tinue  on  The  Bonita,  but  might  instead  go  easily 
to  New  York  by  train.  He  was  naively  happy  in 
this  influx  of  good  fortune,  and  showed  his  emotion 
in  the  deepened  color  under  the  tan  of  his  cheeks 
and  in  the  dancing  lights  of  the  steady  eyes. 

'T'm  shore  plumb  glad  I  kotched  him,"  he  said 
eagerly,  ^'if  thar's  a  right  smart  o'  money  in  hit. 
If  he's  as  right-down  bad  as  ye  says  he  is,  I'm 
powerfully  sorry  I  didn't  wing  'im  'fore  he  got 
yer  dawg.' 

Brant  shook  his  head  regretfully. 

'Tt's  my  fault,"  he  confessed.  T  oughtn't  to 
have  taken  the  chance  with  Bruno  alone.  I  should 
have  had  Jack  along,  too.  With  more  than  one 
dog,  a  man  won't  stand  against  'em.  He'll  take  to 
a  tree."  He  shook  off  the  depression  that 
descended  as  he  glanced  down  at  the  stiffening  body 


52        HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

of  the  beast.  There  was  a  forced  cheerfulness  in 
his  tones  when  he  continued :  "But  how  did  you  get 
into  the  swamp?  I  take  you  to  be  from  the  moun- 
tains." 

Zeke's  manner  suddenly  indicated  no  small  pride. 

*'Vm  a  sailor,  suh,"  he  explained,  with  great  dig- 
nity. "I'm  the  cookin'  chief  on  the  fishin'  steamer, 
Bonita/' 

Brant  surveyed  the  mountaineer  with  quizzically 
appraising  eyes. 

"Been  a  sailor  long?"  he  questioned,  innocently. 

"Wall,  no,  I  hain't,"  Zeke  conceded.  His  voice 
was  reluctant.  "I  was  only  tuk  on  las'  night.  I 
hain't  rightly  begun  sailorin'  yit.  Thet's  how  I 
c'd  come  arter  thet  gobbler."  He  pointed  to  the 
bird  lying  at  the  foot  of  the  cypress.  Abruptly, 
his  thoughts  veered  again  to  the  reward.  "Oh, 
cracky !  Jest  think  of  all  thet  money  earned  in  two 
minutes !  Hit's  what  I  come  down  out  o'  the  moun- 
tains fer,  an'  hit  'pears  like  I  done  right.  I'd  shore 
be  tickled  to  see  all  thet-thar  money  in  dimes  an' 
nickels,  n'  mebby  a  few  quarters  thrown  in!" 
'You're  tied  up  near  here?"  Brant  inquired. 
'Bout  a  mile  over,"  was  the  answer.  "Will  ye 
take  yer  nigger  thar  first?" 

"Yes,  I  know  Captain  Lee.  He'll  give  me  a 
chance  at  your  gobbler,  and  then  passage  to  Eliza- 
beth City." 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE        53 

That  same  afternoon,  The  Bonita  continued  her 
voyage.  The  captain  obhgingly  made  a  landing  at 
Ehzabeth  City,  where  Brant  lodged  his  prisoner, 
and  where  the  gratified  Zeke  stowed  in  his  wallet 
ten  times  as  much  money  as  he  had  ever  before  pos- 
sessed at  one  time.  Naturally,  he  was  in  a  mood 
of  much  self-complacency,  for,  in  addition  to  the 
money  gain,  his  adventure  had  notably  increased  his 
prestige  aboard  ship,  where  Brant's  praise  for 'his 
prompt  and  efficient  action  was  respectfully  ac- 
cepted. Yet,  despite  his  contentment,  the  mountain- 
eer found  himself  strangely  troubled  as  he  lay  in 
his  bunk,  after  the  ship  had  got  under  way.  It 
may  be  that  his  perturbation  had  a  physical  cause, 
at  least  in  part,  for  there  was  more  movement  now 
as  the  vessel  slid  through  the  waves  of  Pamlico 
Sound.  It  was  while  he  tossed  restlessly,  troubled 
over  this  unaccustomed  inability  to  sleep,  that  there 
came  a  memory  of  the  black  bag: 

'T  plumb  fergot  the  dum  hoodoo !"  Zeke  muttered, 
in  huge  disgust.  *'An'  the  chief  said  I  must  git  an- 
other the  first  chance."  Then  he  grinned  vain- 
gloriously  into  the  darkness  of  the  fore-peak.  ''But 
I  reckon  hit  hain't  put  no  cuss  on  me  yit — seein'  as 
how  I  got  a  job  an'  a  peck  o'  money  right  smack 
off."  Presently,  however,  his  nervous  mood  sug- 
gested a  sinister  possibility.  'T'rhaps,  it  don't  work 
on  land — only  jest  on  the  sea,  or  mebby  jest  whar 


54        HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

it  happens  to  be  at.  Hit  wa'n't  'long  with  me  when 
I  ketched  the  nigger.  I  'low  I  ought  to  'a'  got 
rid  o'  the  pesky  thing  like  the  chief  said." 

Zeke  realized  that  sleep  was  not  for  him.  If  he 
had  had  any  hope  otherwise,  it  was  ended  when  the 
fog-horn  of  The  Bonita  wound  its  melancholy  blasts, 
and  other  trumpetings  began  to  sound  over  tlie 
waste  from  near  and  far.  Already,  by  dint  of 
many  inquiries,  Zeke  had  acquired  enough  informa- 
tion to  know  that  the  mournful  noise  was  the  ac- 
companiment of  a  fog.  Curious  to  see,  he  rose, 
and  felt  his  way  to  the  small  port-hole,  through 
which  he  sought  to  peer  out  into  the  night.  His 
vision  compassed  no  more  than  a  few  fathom's  dis- 
tance; beyond,  all  was  blackness.  The  port  was 
open,  and  the  cold  mist  stealing  in  chilled  him.  Zeke 
shivered,  but  an  inexplicable  disturbance  of  spirit 
kept  him  from  the  warmth  of  the  blankets.  He 
chose  rather  to  slip  on  his  trousers,  and  then  again 
to  gaze  blindly  out  into  the  mysterious  dark  of  this 
new  world.  He  found  himself  hearkening  intently 
for  the  varied  calls  of  warning  that  went  wailing 
hither  and  yon.  The  mellow,  softly  booming, 
yet  penetrant  notes  of  the  conch-shells  blown  by 
the  skippers  of  smaller  craft,  came  almost  soothingly 
to  his  ears.  All  the  others,  harsher,  seemed  tocsins 
of  terror. 

Standing  there   at  the   port,   with   the   floating 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE         55 

drops  of  mist  drenching  his  face,  Zeke  fell  into  a 
waking  dream.  He  was  again  clambering  over  the 
scarped  cliffs  of  Stone  Mountain;  beside  him  Plu- 
tina.  His  arm  was  about  her  waist,  and  their 
hands  were  clasped,  as  they  crept  with  cautious,  feel- 
ing steps  amid  the  perils  of  the  path.  For  over 
the  lofty,  barren  summit,  the  mist  had  shut  down 
in  impenetrable  veils.  Yet,  through  that  murk  of 
vapor,  the  two,  though  they  moved  so  carefully, 
went  in  pulsing  gladness,  their  hearts  singing  the 
old,  old,  new,  new  mating  song.  A  mist  not  born 
of  the  sea  nor  of  the  mountain,  but  of  the  heart, 
was  in  the  lad's  eyes  while  he  remembered  and 
lived  again  those  golden  moments  in  the  mountain 
gloom.  It  seemed  to  him  for  a  blessed  minute  that 
Plutina  was  actually  there  beside  him  in  the  tiny, 
rocking  space  of  the  fore-peak;  that  the  warmth  of 
her  hand-clasp  thrilled  into  the  beating  of  his 
pulses.  Though  the  illusion  vanished  swiiftly,  the 
radiance  of  it  remained,  for  he  knew  that  then, 
and  always,  the  spirit  of  the  girl  dwelt  with  him. 

The  mountaineer's  interval  of  peace  was  rudely 
ended.  A  wild  volley  of  blasts  from  The  Bonita's 
whistle  made  alarum.  Bells  clanged  frantically  in 
the  engine-^room  close  at  hand.  A  raucous  fog-horn 
clamored  out  of  the  dark.  To  Zeke,  still  dazedly 
held  to  thought  of  the  mountains,  the  next  sound 
was  like  the  crashing  down  of  a  giant  tree,  which 


56        HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

falls  with  the  tearing,  splitting  din  of  branches 
beating  through  underbrush.  An  evil  tremor  shook 
the  boat.  Of  a  sudden,  The  Bonita  heeled  over  to 
starboard,  almost  on  her  beams'  ends.  Zeke  saved 
himself  from  falling  only  by  a  quick  clutch  on  the 
open  port.  From  the  deck  above  came  a  contusion 
of  fierce  voices,  a  strident  uproar  of  shouts  and 
curses.  Then,  The  Bonita  righted  herself,  tremu- 
lously, languidly,  as  one  sore-stricken  might  sit  up, 
very  feebly.  The  sailors  in  the  fore-peak,  with  a 
chorus  of  startled  oaths,  leaped  from  the  bunks,  and 
fled  to  the  deck.    Zeke  followed. 

Clinging  to  a  stanchion,  the  mountaineer  could 
distinguish  vaguely,  in  the  faint  lights  of  the  lanterns, 
the  bows  of  a  three-masted  schooner,  which  had 
sheared  through  the  port-side  of  The  Bonita.  The 
bowsprit  hung  far  over  the  smaller  ship,  a  wand 
of  doom.  The  beating  of  the  waves  against  the 
boat's  side  came  gently  under  the  rasping,  crunch- 
ing complaint  of  timber  against  timber  in  combat: 
The  schooner's  sails  flapped  softly  in  the  light 
breeze.  Zeke,  watching  and  listening  alertly, 
despite  bewilderment,  heard  the  roaring  commands 
of  a  man  invisible,  somewhere  above  him,  and 
guessed  that  this  must  be  the  captain  of  the 
schooner.  He  saw  the  crew  of  The  Bonita  clamber- 
ingv  one  after  another  at  speed,  up  the  anchor 
chain  at  the  bow  of  the  destroyer.     He  realized 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE         57 

that  flight  was  the  only  road  to  safety.  But,  even 
as  he  was  tensed  to  dart  forward,  he  remembered  his 
treasure  of  money  under  the  bunk  pillow. 

On  the  instant,  he  rushed  to  the  fore-peak,  seized 
the  wallet  and  the  black  bag,  and  fled  again  to  the 
deck.  At  the  moment  when  he  reappeared,  a  gust  of 
quickening  breeze  filled  the  schooner's  sails.  The 
canvas  bellied  taut.  The  grinding,  clashing  clamor 
of  the  timbers  swelled  suddenly.  The  schooner 
wrenched  herself  free,  and  slipped,  abruptly  silent, 
away  into  the  night  and  the  mist.  Ere  Zeke 
reached  the  rail  in  his  leap,  the  schooner  had  van- 
ished. For  a  minute,  he  heard  a  medley  of  voices. 
Then,  while  he  stood  straining  his  eyes  in  despair, 
these  sounds  lessened — died.  The  mountaineer 
stood  solitary  and  forsaken  on  the  deck  of  a  sink- 
ing ship. 

Finally,  Zeke  spoke  aloud  in  self-communion. 
The  words  rang  a  little  tremulous,  for  he  realized 
that  he  was  at  grips  with  death. 

"Hit's  what  I  gits  fer  fergittinV'  was  his  regret- 
ful comment.  *T  reckon,  if  so  be  I'd  ever  got  onto 
thet-thar  schooner  with  this-hyar  damn'  bag,  she'd 
'a'  sunk,  too.  Or,  leastways,  they'd  have  chucked 
me  overboard  like  Jonah,  fer  causin'  the  hull  cussed 
trouble  with  this  pesky  black  bag  o'  mine." 

Zeke  perceived  that  the  doomed  vessel  was  set- 
tling by  the  head.  He  surmised  that  time  was  short. 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 


Nevertheless,  he  took  leisure  for  one  duty  he 
deemed  of  prime  importance.  With  all  his  strength 
in  a  vicious  heave,  he  cast  the  black  bag  from  him 
into  the  sea. 

*T  hain't  superstitious,"  he  remarked,  sullenly; 
^'thet  is,  not  exzackly.  An'  I  reckon  I'm  gittin'  rid  o' 
that  conjure  satchel  a  mite  late.  I  guess  hit's  done 
hit's  damnedest  a'ready." 

Inquiries  during  the  leisurely  voyaging  through 
the  canal  had  given  Zeke  knowledge  concerning  the 
life-belts.  Now,  he  buckled  one  of  them  about  his 
body  hastily,  for  even  his  ignorance  could  not  fail 
to  interpret  the  steady  settling  of  the  vessel  into 
the  water.  The  strain  of  fighting  forebears  in  the 
lad  set  him  courageous  in  the  face  of  death.  But  his 
blood  was  red  and  all  a-tingle  with  the  joy  of  life, 
and  he  was  very  loath  to  die.  His  heart  yearned 
for  the  girl  who  loved  him.  His  desire  for  her  was 
a  stabbing  agony.  The  thought  of  his  mother's 
destitution,  deprived  of  him  in  her  old  age,  was 
grievous.  But  his  anguish  was  over  the  girl — an- 
guish for  himself;  yet  more  for  her.  The  drizzle 
of  the  fog  on  his  cheeks  brought  again  a  poignant 
memory  of  the  mist  that  had  enwrapped  them  on 
the  stark  rocks  of  the  mountain.  A  savage  revolt 
welled  in  him  against  the  monstrous  decree  of  fate. 
He  cried  out  roughly  a  challenge  to  the  elements. 
Then,  in  the  next  instant,  he  checked  the  futile  out- 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE        59 

burst,   and  bethought  him  how  best  to  meet  the 
catastrophe. 

The  instinct  of  flight  from  the  rising  waters  led 
Zeke  to  mount  the  pilot-house.  The  lanterns  shed 
a  flickering  light  here,  and  the  youth  uttered  a  cry 
of  joy  as  his  eyes  fell  on  the  life-raft.  The  shout 
was  lost  in  the  hissing  of  steam  as  the  sea  rushed 
in  on  the  boilers.  All  the  lights  were  extinguished 
now,  save  the  running  lamps  with  their  containers 
of  oil.  Quickly,  the  noise  from  the  boiler-room 
died  out,  and  again  there  was  silence,  save  for  the 
occasional  bourdoning  of  the  horns  or  the  mocking 
caress  of  the  waves  that  lapped  the  vessel's  sides — 
like  a  colossal  serpent  licking  the  prey  it  would  de- 
vour betimes.  In  the  stillness,  Zeke  wrought 
swiftly.  He  wasted  no  time  over  the  fastenings.  The 
blade  of  his  knife  slashed  through  the  hemp  lashings, 
and  the  raft  lay  clear.  He  made  sure  that  it  was 
free  from  the  possibility  of  entanglement.  Then, 
as  the  boat  lurched  sickeningly,  like  a  drunken  man 
to  a  fall,  Zeke  stretched  himself  face  downward 
lengthwise  of  the  tiny  structure,  and  clenched  his 
hands  on  the  tubes.  There  was  a  period  of  drag- 
ging seconds,  while  The  Bonita  swayed  sluggishly, 
in  a  shuddering  rhythm.  Came  the  death  spasm. 
The  stern  was  tossed  high;  the  bow  plunged  for 
the  depths.     Down  and  down — to  the  oyster  rocks 


6o        HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

of  Teach's  Hole,  in  Pamlico  Sound.  As  the  vessel 
sank,  the  raft  floated  clear  for  a  moment,  then  the 
suction  drew  it  under,  buffeted  it — spewed  it  forth. 
It  rode  easily  on  the  swirling  waters,  at  last.  As 
the  commotion  from  the  ship's  sinking  ceased,  the 
raft  moved  smoothly  on  the  surface,  rocking  gently 
with  the  pulse  of  the  sea.  Zeke,  half -strangled, 
almost  torn  from  his  place  by  the  grip  of  the  water 
in  the  plunge,  clung  to  his  refuge  with  all  the 
strength  that  was  in  him.  And  that  strength  pre- 
vailed. Soon,  he  could  breathe  fully  once  again, 
and  the  jaws  of  the  sea  gave  over  their  gnawing. 
After  the  mortal  peril  through  which  he  had  won, 
Zeke  found  his  case  not  so  evil.  The  life  was  still 
in  him,  and  he  voiced  a  crude  phrase  of  grateful- 
ness to  Him  who  is  Lord  of  the  deep  waters,  even 
as  of  the  everlasting  hills. 

Near  Teach's  Hole,  Ocracoke  Inlet  offers  a  shal- 
low channel  between  the  dunes  from  Pamlico 
Sound  to  the  open  sea.  Here  the  varying  tides  rush 
angrily,  lashed  by  the  bulk  of  waves  behind.  To- 
night, the  ebb  bore  with  it  a  cockle-shell  on  which 
a  lad  clung,  shivering.  But  the  soul  was  still  strong 
in  him  for  all  his  plight.  He  dared  believe  that  he 
would  yet  return  safe  to  the  mountains,  to  the  love 
that  awaited  him  there. 

Once  the  castaway  smiled  wryly : 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE        6i 

"I  hain't  superstitious  none — leastways,  I  dun- 
no's  I  be,"  he  muttered,  doubtfully.  "But  hit's 
plumb  lucky  I  got  rid  o'  thet-thar  dum  black  bag 
jest  as  I  did,  or  I'd  'a'  been  a  goner,  shore!" 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  days  dragged  heavily  for  Plutina,  after 
the  departure  of  her  lover.  She  endured 
■  the  period  of  tense  waiting  as  best  she 
might,  since  endure  she  must,  but  this  passive  lone- 
liness, without  a  word  from  the  man  of  her  heart, 
was  well-nigh  intolerable.  She  did  not  weep — after 
that  single  passionate  outburst  while  yet  her  lips 
were  warm  from  his  kiss.  She  was  not  of  the 
weak  fiber  to  find  assuagement  in  many  tears,  nor 
had  she  nerves  that  needed  the  chemical  soothing 
of  flooded  eyes.  She  had,  indeed,  strength  suffi- 
cient for  the  trial.  She  bore  her  sorrow  bravely 
enough,  but  it  pierced  her  through  and  through.  She 
knew  her  lover,  and  she  knew  herself.  Because  of 
that  knowledge  she  was  spared  the  shameful  suffer- 
ing of  a  woman  who  fears,  with  deadly  fear,  lest 
her  lover  be  untrue.  Plutina  had  never  a  doubt  as 
to  the  faith  of  the  absent  one.  A  natural  jealousy 
sometimes  leaped  in  her  bosom,  at  thought  of  him 
exposed  to  the  wiles  of  women  whom  she  suspected 
of  all  wantonness.  But  she  had  no  cowardly 
thought  that  the  fairest  and  most  cunning  of  them 

62 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE        63 

could  oust  her  from  the  shrine  of  Zeke's  heart. 
Her  great  grief  lay  in  the  failure  of  any  word 
from  the  traveler.  The  days  became  weeks;  al- 
most a  month  had  gone  since  he  held  her  in  his 
arms,  and  still  no  message  came.  This  was,  in 
truth,  strange  enough  to  justify  alarm.  It  was 
with  difficulty  that  she  drove  back  a  temptation  to 
imagine  evil  happenings.  She  went  oftener.the  six 
miles  to  the  Cherry  Lane  post-office. 

When  she  descended  the  trail  toward  Thunder 
Branch  this  morning,  she  saw  Zeke's  mother  stand- 
ing in  the  doorway  of  the  cabin  on  the  far  side  of 
the  stream.  The  bent  figure  of  the  old  woman 
rested  motionless,  with  one  hand  lifted  to  shade  her 
eyes  from  the  vivid  sunlight,  as  she  watched  the 
girl's  approach. 

*'Mornin',  Tiny,"  she  said  tenderly,  as  the  girl 
crossed  the  clearing.  "On  yer  way  to  the  Lane,  I 
reckon?" 

"Mornin',  Mis'  Higgins,"  came  the  cheery 
answer.  *Yes,  I  'lowed  as  how  ye'd  love  to  hear, 
an'  I  c'd  git  away.  The  corn's  laid  by ;  the  sorghum 
cane's  done  hoed.  Alviry's  gone  to  he'p  Gran'pap 
with  a  bee-tree.  Hit's  a  big  yaller  poplar,  up  'twixt 
Ted  Hutchins'  claim  an'  the  ole  mine-hole.  Gran'- 
pap 'lows  as  how  hit'll  have  to  be  cut  an'  split,  an' 
wuth  hit — over  a  hundred  pounds,  all  sour-wood 
honey,  'cept  'bout  ten  pounds  early  poplar.    Gran'- 


64        HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

pap's  right-smart  tickled.  I  told  Alviry  to  watch 
out  he  don't  go  an'  tote  half  of  it  up  to  thet-thar 
Widder  Brown.  You-all  must  come  over  an'  git 
what  ye  kin  use  o'  the  honey,  Mis'  Higgins,  afore 
the  widder  gits  her  fingers  in  the  jar." 

"Ye  don't  opine  thet-thar  gran'pap  o'  your'n  aims 
to  git  hitched  ag'in  at  his  age,  do  ye,  Tiny?  Hit'd 
be  plumb  scand'lous — an'  him  eighty  past.  At  thet 
age,  he's  bound  to  have  one  foot  in  the  grave,  fer 
all  he's  so  tarnation  spry  an'  peart  in  his  carryin's 


on." 


''Lord  knows  what  he'll  do,"  the  girl  replied, 
carelessly.  ''He's  allers  been  given  credit  fer  havin' 
fotchin'  ways  with  women.  I  hope  he  won't,  though. 
They  say,  folks  what  marry  upwards  o'  eighty  is 
mighty  short-lived." 

The  topic  led  Zeke's  mother  to  broach  apprehen- 
sion of  her  own: 

"Tiny,  ye  don't  have  no  idee  thet  our  Zeke's  gone 
daffy  on  some  o'  them  Evish-lookin'  critters 
down  below,  like  ye  showed  me  their  picters  in  the 
city  paper  oncet?" 

"Naw,  no  danger  o'  thet,"  was  the  stout  assur- 
ance. "Zeke's  got  too  much  sense.  Besides,  he 
hain't  had  no  time  to  git  rich  yit.  The  paper  done 
said  as  how  them  kind's  arter  the  coin." 

As  she  went  her  way,  the  girl's  mind  reveled  in 
thoughts  of  the  days  to  come,  when  Zeke  should  be 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE        65 

rich  in  sooth,  and  his  riches  for  her.  She  swun^ 
her  sun-bonnet  in  vigorous  slaps  against  her  bare 
legs,  to  scatter  the  ravenous  mosquitoes  and  yellow 
flies,  swarming  from  the  thickets,  and  she  smiled 
contentedly. 

^T'r'aps,  them  women's  got  more  edication  'n 
me,"  she  mused  aloud,  complacently,  ''but  I  kin  fill 
them  silk  stockin's  plumb  up."  Her  face  grew  brood- 
ing with  a  wistful  regret  in  the  sudden  droop  of 
the  tender  red  lips.  "I  'low  I  jest  orter  'a'  swung 
onto  thet-thar  neck  o'  his'n  an'  hollered  fer  Par- 
son, and  got  spliced  'fore  he  went."  She  shook 
her  head  disconsolately.  "Why,  if  he  don't  come 
back,  I'll  be  worse  nor  the  widders.  Humph,  I 
knows  'em — cats !  They'll  say :  'Tiny  Siddon  didn't 
never  have  no  chance  to  git  married — her  disperzi- 
tion  an'  her  looks  wa'n't  compellin'  'nough  to  ketch 
a  man." 

The  great  dark  eyes  were  clouded  a  little  with 
bitter  disappointment,  when,  two  hours  later,  the 
girl  came  swiftly  down  the  steep  slopes  from 
Cherry  Lane,  for  once  again  there  had  been  no  let- 
ter for  her.  Despite  her  courage,  Plutina  felt  a  chill 
of  dismay  before  the  mystery  of  this  silence. 
Though  faith  was  unshaken,  bewilderment  op- 
pressed her  spirit.  She  could  not  understand,  and 
because  she  could  not  understand,  her  grief  was 
heavy  to  bear     Then,  presently,  she  chanced  upon 


66        HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

a  new  mystery  for  her  distraction — though  this 
was  the  easier  to  her  solving. 

As  she  descended  into  a  hollow  by  Luffman's 
branch,  which  joins  Thunder  Branch  a  little  way 
above  the  Higgins'  clearing,  Plutina's  alert  ears 
caught  a  sound  that  was  not  of  the  tumbling  waters. 
Through  all  the  noises  of  the  stream  where  it  leaped 
and  sprayed  in  miniature  falls  over  cluttering  bowl- 
ders and  fallen  pines,  she  could  distinguish  the 
splashing  of  quick  footsteps  in  the  shallows.  Some 
instinct  of  caution  checked  the  girl's  advance.  In- 
stead of  going  forward  openly,  she  turned  aside  and 
approached  the  bank  where  crowding  alders  and 
ivy  formed  a  screen.  Here,  she  parted  the  vines 
stealthily,  and  peered  up  the  water-course. 

A  man  was  descending  the  run  with  hurried 
strides,  wading  with  bare  feet,  or  springing  from 
rock  to  rock  where  were  the  deeper  pools.  A  Win- 
chester nestled  in  the  crook  of  his  left  arm;  two 
huge  bear-traps,  the  jaws  wickedly  fanged,  were 
swung  from  a  rope  over  his  right  shoulder ;  a  short- 
helved  ax  was  thrust  within  his  belt.  He  wore  only 
a  cotton  shirt  open  at  the  neck,  dirty  throughout, 
patched  jeans  trousers,  and  a  soft  hat,  green  from 
long  use.  Beneath  the  shading  brim  showed  a 
loutish  face,  the  coarse  features  swollen  from  dis- 
sipation, the  small  black  eyes  bleared,  yet  alert  and 
penetrating  in  their   darting,    furtive  glances.     It 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE        e^ 

was  Dan  Hodges,  a  man  of  unsavory  repute.  The 
girl,  though  unafraid,  blessed  the  instinct  that  had 
guided  her  to  avoid  a  meeting. 

There  were  two  prime  factors  in  Plutina's  de- 
testation of  Hodges.  The  first  was  due  to  his  in- 
solence, as  she  deemed  it,  in  aspiring  for  her  favor. 
With  httle  training  in  conventional  ideas  of  deli- 
cacy, the  girl  had,  nevertheless,  a  native  refinement 
not  always  characteristic  of  her  more-cultured  sis- 
ter women.  There  was  to  her  something  unspeak- 
ably repugnant  in  the  fact  that  this  bestial  person 
should  dare  to  think  of  her  intimately.  It  was  as 
if  she  were  polluted  by  his  dreaming  of  her  kisses, 
of  her  yielding  to  his  caresses.  That  he  had  so 
aspired  she  knew,  for  he  had  told  her  of  his  desire 
with  the  coarse  candor  of  his  kind.  Her  spurning 
of  the  uncouth  advances,  had  excited  his  wrath;  it 
had  not  destroyed  his  hopes.  He  had  even  ventured 
to  renew  his  suit,  after  the  news  of  an  engagement 
between  Plutina  and  Zeke  had  gone  abroad.  He 
had  winced  under  the  scourge  of  the  girl'  scorn, 
but  he  had  shown  neither-  penitence  nor  remorse. 
Plutina  had  forborne  any  account  of  this  trouble  to 
her  lover,  lest,  by  bad  blood  between  the  two  men, 
a  worse  thing  befall. 

The  second  cause  of  the  girl's  feeling  was  less 
direct,  though  of  longer  standing,  and  had  to  do 
with  the  death  of  her  father.    That  Siddon,  while 


68        HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

yet  in  his  prime,  had  been  slain  in  a  raid  on  a  still 
by  the  revenue  officers,  and  that  depite  the  fact 
that  he  was  not  concerned  in  the  affair,  save  by  the 
unfortunate  chance  of  being  present.  Plutina, 
though  only  a  child  at  the  time,  could  still  remem- 
ber the  horror  of  that  event.  There  was  a  singular 
personal  guiltiness,  too,  in  her  feeling,  for,  on  the 
occasion  of  the  raid,  her  grandfather  had  been  look- 
ing out  from  a  balcony,  and  had  seen  the  revenue 
men  urging  their  horses  up  the  trail,  the  sunlight 
glinting  on  their  carbines.  He  had  seized  the  great 
horn,  to  blow  a  warning  to  those  at  the  secret  still 
on  the  mountain  above.  Plutina  could  remember 
yet  the  grotesque  bewilderment  on  his  face,  as  no 
sound  issued — then  the  wrath  and  despair.  The 
children,  in  all  innocence,  had  stuffed  the  horn  with 
rags.  The  prank  had  thus,  in  a  way,  cost  two 
lives — one,  that  of  "Young"  Dick  Siddon.  The 
owner  of  the  raided  still  had  been  Dan  Hodges,  and 
him  Putina  despised  and  hated  with  a  virulence 
not  at  all  Christian,  but  very  human.  She  had  all 
the  old-time  mountaineer's  antipathy  for  the  ex- 
tortion, as  it  was  esteemed,  of  the  Federal  Govern- 
ment, and  her  father's  death  had  naturally  inflamed 
her  against  those  responsible  for  it.  Yet,  her  loath- 
ing of  Hodges  caused  her  to  regret  that  the  man 
himself  had  escaped  capture  thus  far,  though  twice 
bis  still  had  b^en  destroyed,  once  within  the  year. 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE        69 

A  high,  jutting  wall  of  rock  hid  the  stream 
where  it  bent  sharply  a  little  way  from  Plutina's 
shelter.  Presently,  she  became  aware  that  Hodges 
had  paused  thus  beyond  the  range  of  her  vision, 
and  was  busy  there.  She  heard  the  blows  of  the 
ax.  General  distrust  of  the  man  stirred  up  in  her 
a  brisk  curiosity  concerning  the  nature  of  his  action 
in  this  place.  On  a  previous  day,  she  had  observed 
that  the  limpid  waters  of  the  brook  had  been  sullied 
by  the  milky  refuse  from  a  still  somewhere  in  the 
reaches  above.  Now,  the  presence  of  Dan  Hodges 
was  sufficient  to  prove  the  hidden  still  his.  But 
the  fact  did  not  explain  his  business  here.  That 
it  was  something  evil,  she  could  not  doubt,  for  the 
man  and  his  gang  were  almost  outlaws  among  their 
own  people.  They  were  known,  though  unpunished, 
thieves,  as  well  as  ''moonshiners,"  and  there  were 
whispers  of  more  dreadful  things — of  slain  men 
vanished  into  the  unsounded  depths  of  the  Devil's 
Cauldron.  The  gorge  of  the  community — careless 
as  it  had  been  of  some  laws  in  the  past,  and  too 
ready  to  administer  justice  according  to  its  own 
code — had  risen  against  the  vicious  living  of  the 
gang  that  accepted  Hodges  as  chief.  It  seemed  to 
Plutina  that  duty  conspired  with  curiosity  to  set 
her  spying  on  the  man. 

The  espionage,  though  toilsome  enough,  was  not 
otherwise  difficult.     Toward  the  bend,  the  banks 


70        HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

rose  sharply  on  both  sides  of  the  stream,  forming  a 
tiny  canon  for  the  channel.  The  steep  slope  on 
the  east  side,  where  the  girl  now  ascended,  was 
closely  overgrown  with  laurel  and  little  thickets 
of  ground  pine,  through  which  she  was  hard  beset 
to  force  her  way — the  more  since  she  must  move 
with  what  noiselessness  she  might.  But  her  strength 
and  skill  compassed  the  affair  with  surprising 
quickness.  Presently,  she  came  to  the  brim  of  the 
little  cliff,  and  lying  outstretched,  cautiously  looked 
down.  Already,  a  hideous  idea  had  entered  her 
mind,  but  she  had  rejected  it  with  horror.  What 
she  now  saw  confirmed  the  thought  she  had  not 
dared  to  harbor. 

Within  this  bend  of  the  brook,  the  lessening 
volume  of  the  channel  had  left  a  patch  of  rich  soil, 
heavily  overgrown  with  lush  grasses  and  clusters 
of  flowering  weeds.  A  faint  trace  of  passing  steps 
ran  across  the  bit  of  dry  ground,  the  path  of  those 
that  followed  the  stream's  course.  Fair  in  this 
dim  trail,  near  the  center  of  the  plot,  a  stake  had 
been  driven  deep.  At  the  moment,  Hodges  was 
driving  into  the  ground  a  similar  stake,  a  yard 
further  down.  It  was  evident  that  the  stakes  had 
been  previously  left  here  In  readiness,  since  he  had 
not  carried  them  In  his  descent,  and  the  iron  rings 
bound  to  them  must  have  been  attached  In  a  forge. 
The  two  massive  traps  were  lying  half-hidden  in 


.^v 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE         71 

the  luxuriant  growth  close  by.  As  Plutina  watched 
with  affrighted  intentness,  the  man  finished  driv- 
ing the  second  stake.  He  lifted  one  of  the  traps, 
and  carried  it  to  the  upper  stake.  With  the  aid  of 
a  stone  for  anvil,  he  succeeded  in  clumsily  riveting 
the  trap's  length  of  chain  to  the  ring  on  the  stake. 
The  like  was  done  with  the  other  trap  at  the  lower 
stake.  Then,  the  man  undertook  the  setting  of  the 
traps.  The  task  was  accompHshed  very  quickly  for 
both,  though  the  strength  of  the  jaws  taxed  his 
muscles  to  their  utmost.  Finally,  he  strewed  leaves, 
and  bent  grass,  until  no  least  gleam  of  metal  be- 
trayed the  masked  peril  of  the  trail.  Plutina  sick 
with  the  treacherous  deviltry  of  the  device,  heard 
the  grunt  of  satisfaction  with  which  Hodges  con- 
templated his  finished  work.  Forthwith,  he  picked 
up  his  rifle,  thrust  the  ax-helve  within  his  belt,  and 
set  off  up  the  gulch. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THERE  could  be  no  doubt.  Those  massive 
traps,  with  their  cruel  teeth  of  steel, 
meant  by  the  makers  for  the  holding  of 
beasts,  had  been  set  here  by  Hodges  for  the  snar- 
ing of  men.  The  contrivance  was  fiendishly  efficient. 
From  her  coign  of  vantage  on  the  cliff  top,  Plu- 
tina  could  see,  on  a  height  above,  the  brush-covered 
distillery.  A  thin,  blue  column  of  smoke  rose 
straight  in  the  calm  air,  witness  that  the  kettle  was 
boiling  over  hickory  logs,  that  a  "run"  of  the  liquor 
was  being  made.  Plutina  recalled  that,  in  a  recent 
raid  against  Hodges,  the  still  had  been  captured 
and  destroyed  though  the  gang  had  escaped.  Such 
loss  was  disastrous,  for  the  new  copper  and  worm 
and  fermenters  meant  a  cost  of  a  hundred  dollars, 
a  sum  hard  to  come  on  in  the  mountain  coves. 
Usually,  the  outfit  is  packed  on  the  men's  backs  to 
hiding  in  the  laurel,  afterward  shifted  to  another 
obscure  nook  by  running  water.  It  was  plain  that 
Hodges  had  grown  more  than  ever  venomous  over 
the  destruction  of  his  still,  and  had  no  scruples  as 
to  the  means  he  would  employ  to  prevent  a  repeti- 

72 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE         73 

tion  of  such  catastrophe.  No  need  now  to  fear 
lest  sentinels  be  not  alert.  The  natural  path  to  the 
still  was  along  the  course  of  the  stream.  The  un- 
wary passer  over  the  tiny  stretch  of  greensward  on 
which  the  girl  looked  down,  would  follow  the  dim 
trail  of  footsteps,  and  so  inevitably  come  within  the 
clutch  of  the  great  jaws,  which  would  hurl  them- 
selves together,  rending  and  crunching  the  flesh  be- 
tween. The  victim's  shrieks  of  anguish  under  the 
assault  would  be  a  warning  to  the  lawless  men 
above.  They  would  make  ready  and  flee  with  their 
possessions,  and  be  lost  in  the  laurel  once  again. 
Yes,  the  device  was  simple,  diabolically  simple,  and 
adequate.  It  required  only  that  its  executant  should 
be  without  bowels  of  compassion. 

Plutina,  strong-nerved  as  she  was,  found  herself 
shuddering  as  she  realized  the  heinousness  of  this 
thing.  The  soft  bloom  of  the  roses  in  her  cheeks 
faded  to  white;  the  dark  radiance  of  the  eyes  was 
dimmed  with  horror;  the  exquisite  lips  were  com- 
pressed harshly  against  their  own  quivering  weak- 
ness. For  Plutina,  despite  strength  of  body  and 
sane  poise  of  soul,  was  a  gentle  and  tender  woman, 
and  the  brutal  project  spread  before  her  eyes  was 
an  offense  to  every  sensibility.  Then,  very  soon,  the 
mood  of  passive  distress  yielded  to  another  emo- 
tion: a  lust  for  vengeance  on  the  man  who  would 
insure  his  own  safety  thus,  reckless  of  another's 


74        HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

cost.  A^  new  idea  came  to  the  girl.  At  its  first 
advent,  she  shrank  from  it,  conscience-stricken,  for 
it  outraged  the  traditions  of  her  people.  But  the 
idea  returned,  once  and  again.  It  seemed  to  her 
that  the  evil  of  the  man  justified  her  in  any  meas- 
ure for  his  punishment.  She  had  been  bred  to' 
hate  and  despise  a  spy,  but  it  was  borne  in  on  her 
now  that  duty  required  of  her  to  turn  informer 
against  Dan  Hodges.  There  was  more  even  than 
the  inflicting  of  punishment  on  the  outlaw;  there 
was  the  necessity  of  safeguarding  the  innocent 
from  the  menace  of  those  hidden  man-traps.  Any 
^'furriner"  from  down  below  might  wander  here, 
whipping  the  stream;  or  any  one  of  the  neighbor- 
hood might  chance  on  the  spot.  The  Widow  Hig- 
gins'  heifers  sometimes  strayed;  the  old  woman 
might  come  hither,  seeking  them.  Plutina  shud- 
dered again,  before  the  terrible  vision  of  the  one 
who  was  like  a  mother  to  her,  caught  and  mangled 
by  the  pointed  fangs  waiting  amid  the  grasses 
below. 

The  question  as  to  her  right  conduct  in  the  af- 
fair remained  with  the  girl,  as  she  descended  from 
the  cliff,  and  made  her  way  slowly  homeward.  She 
temporized  by  a  precautionary  measure.  At  the 
widow's  cabin,  she  secured  the  old  woman's  prom- 
ise not  to  go  beyond  the  clearing  in  quest  of  the 
cattle.    But  the  difficulty  as  to  her  course  was  not 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE         75 

abated.  Inclination  urged  her  to  advise  the  author- 
ities concerning  the  locations  of  still  and  traps,  and 
inclination  was  reinforced  by  justice.  Yet,  over 
against  this,  there  were  the  powerful  influence  of  her 
upbringing,  the  circumstances  of  her  environment^ 
the  tragedy  of  her  father's  death,  the  savage  re- 
sentment of  her  grandfather,  already  virulent  against 
her  lover — all  forces  to  inspire  enmity  against  the 
representatives  of  a  law  regarded  as  the  violation 
of  inalienable  rights.  True,  there  was  growing  an 
insidious  change  in  the  sentiment  of  the  community. 
Where  all  had  once  been  of  accord,  the  better  ele- 
ment were  now  becoming  convinced  that  the  illicit 
liquor-making  cursed  the  mountains,  rather  than 
blessed.  Undoubtedly,  some  effect  of  this  had 
touched  the  girl  herself,  without  her  knowledge, 
else  she  had  never  thought  to  betray  even  such  a  mis- 
creant as  Hodges.  There  was,  however,  an  abid- 
ing hate  of  the  informer  here,  as  always  among 
decent  folk,  though  along  with  it  went  reprobation  of 
the  traffic  in  moonshine.  Plutina  felt  that  she  could 
never  justify  her  action  in  the  sight  of  her  people, 
should  she  bring  the  revenue  men  into  the  moun- 
tain. Her  own  grandfather  w^ould  curse  her,  and 
drive  her  forth.  His  feeling  had  been  shown  clear- 
ly in  the  case  of  Zeke.  So,  in  her  period  of  un- 
certainty and  stress,  there  was  none  of  whom  the 
girl  could  take  counsel.     But,  in  the  end,  she  de- 


^6    -    HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

cided  that  she  must  give  warning  to  the  United 
States  marshal.  The  task  demanded  care.  On 
absolute  secrecy  depended,  in  all  likelihood,  her  very 
life. 

The  trove  of  honey  had  come  opportunely,  since 
the  sale  of  a  portion  afforded  Plutina  plausible  ex- 
cuse for  her  trip  to  Joines'  store.  There,  a  tele- 
phone had  been  recently  installed,  and  it  was  the 
girl's  intention  to  use  this  means  of  communication 
with  the  marshal.  That  the  danger  of  detection 
was  great,  she  was  unhappily  aware,  but,  she  could 
devise  no  plan  that  seemed  less  perilous.  So,  early 
in  the  morning  of  the  day  following  her  discovery, 
she  made  her  way  along  the  North  Wilkesboro' 
road,  carrying  twenty  pounds  of  the  sour-wood 
honey.  At  the  store,  she  did  her  trading,  and 
afterward  remained  loitering,  as  is  the  custom  of 
shoppers  in  the  region.  The  interval  of  waiting 
seemed  to  her  interminable,  for  trade  was  brisk. 
There  was  always  someone  near  enough  the  tele- 
phone to  overhear,  for  it  was  unprotected  by  a  booth. 
But,  finally,  the  customers  lessened.  The  few  re- 
maining were  in  the  front  of  the  store,  at  a  safe 
distance  from  the  instrument  which  was  on  a  shelf 
at  the  back.  Plutina  believed  that  her  opportunity 
was  come.  She  knew  the  amount  of  the  toll,  and 
had  the  necessary  silver  in  her  hand  to  slip  into  the 
box.    Then,  just  as  she  was  about  to  take  down  the 


's. 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE        ^^ 

receiver,  her  apprehensive  glance,  roving  the  room, 
fell  on  Ben  York,  who  entered  briskly,  notwith- 
standing his  seventy  years,  and  came  straight  toward 
her.  Plutina's  lifted  hand  fell  to  her  side,  and 
dread  was  heavy  on  her.  For  Ben  York  was  the 
distiller  in  Hodges'  gang. 

The  old  man  had  a  reputation  almost  as  notori- 
ous as  that  of  Hodges  himself.  The  girl  felt  a  wave 
of  disgust,  mingled  with  alarm,  as  she  caught  sight 
of  the  face,  almost  hidden  behind  a  hoary  thicket 
of  whiskers.  The  fellow  was  dirty,  as  always,  and 
his  ragged  clothes  only  emphasized  the  emaciation 
of  his  dwarfed  form.  But  the  rheumy  eyes  had  a 
searching  quality  that  disturbed  the  girl  greatly. 
She  knew  that  the  man  was  distinguished  for  his 
intelligence  as  well  as  for  his  general  worthlessness. 
In  the  experience  of  years,  he  had  always  escaped 
the  raiders,  nor  had  they  been  able  ever  to  secure 
any  evidence  against  him.  He  was,  in  fact,  as  adroit 
of  mind  as  he  was  tough  of  body.  He  had  lived  hard 
all  his  days,  either  in  drunken  carouse  or  lying  out 
in  the  laurel  to  escape  the  summons  of  the  courts. 
iWhere,  alas !  a  holier  man  might  have  been  broken 
long  ago,  the  aged  reprobate  thrived,  and  threatened 
to  infest  the  land  for  years  to  come.  Now,  he 
greeted  the  girl  casually  enough,  made  a  purchase, 
and  took  his  departure.  He  seemd  quite  unsus- 
picious, but  Plutina  felt  that  his  coming  on  her 


78        HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

thus  was  an  evil  omen,  and,  for  a  moment,  she 
faltered  in  her  purpose. 

A  hand  went  to  her  bosom,  and  touched  the  tiny 
leather  bag  that  hung  from  a  cord  about  her  neck 
inside  the  gown.  Within  it  was  the  fairy  crystal. 
The  touch  of  it  strengthened  her  in  some  subtle 
fashion.  It  was  as  if  to  her  weakness  there  came 
miraculously  something  vital,  something  occultly 
helpful  in  her  need,  from  the  distant  lover.  The 
superstition,  begotten  and  nourished  always  in  the 
fastnesses  of  the  heights,  stirred  deeply  within  her, 
and  comforted  her.  Of  a  sudden,  courage  flowed 
back  into  her.     She  took  down  the  receiver. 

After  all,  nothing  was  accomplished.  The  mar- 
shal was  not  in  his  office,  but  absent  somewhere  in 
the  mountains.  Plutina  would  not  risk  giving  in- 
formation to  any  other  than  the  officer  himself, 
whom  she  knew,  and  respected.  Disconsolate,  she 
abandoned  the  attempt  for  the  time  being,  and  set 
out  to  get  a  bag  of  wheat  flour  from  the  mill  close 
by,  on  the  other  side  of  Roaring  River. 

As  Plutina,  with  the  bag  of  flour  on  shoulder,  was 
making  her  way  back  from  the  mill,  across  the 
big  sycamore  trunk  that  serves  as  a  foot  bridge,  a 
horse  splashed  into  the  ford  alongside.  The  girl 
looked  up,  to  see  the  very  man  she  sought.  Mar- 
shal Stone  called  a  cheery  greeting,  the  while  his 
horse  dropped  its  head  to  drink. 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE        79 

''Howdy,  Plutina?"       . 

''Howdy,  Mr.  Stone,"  she  answered.  Her  free 
hand  went  again  to  the  talisman  in  her  bosom. 
Surely,  its  charm  was  potent ! 

''All's  well  as  common,  at  home?"  Stone  contin- 
ued. His  critical  eyes  delighted  in  the  unconscious 
grace  of  the  girl,  as  she  stood  poised  above  the 
brawling  stream,  serene  in  her  physical  perfection; 
and  above  the  delicately  modeled  symmetry  of  form 
was  the  loveliness  of  the  face,  beautiful  as  a  flower, 
yet  strong,  with  the  shining  eyes  and  the  red  lips, 
now  parted  in  eagerness.  The  marshal  wondered 
a  little  at  that  eagerness.  He  wondered  still  more 
at  her  hurried  speech  after  one  quick  glance  to  make 
sure  that  none  could  overhear: 

*T  mustn't  be  seed  talkin'  to  ye,  but  I  got  some- 
thin'  to  say'll  he'p  ye  arn  yer  pay.  Kin  ye  meet  me 
in  an  hour  by  the  sun,  at  the  ole  gate  on  the  east 
end  o'  Wolf  Rock?" 

The  marshal's  answer  wasted  no  words: 

"Go  on,  gal— I'll  be  there." 

Wolf  Rock,  a  huge,  jutting  mass  of  barren  cliff, 
though  tiny  beside  the  bulk  of  Stone  Mountain, 
which  overshadows  it,  lies  between  Garden  Creek 
and  Thunder  Branch,  a  little  to  the  north  of 
where  these  streams  flow  into  Roaring  River.  Its 
situation,  nearly  midway  between  the  mill  and  the 
Siddon  Cabin,  made  it  a  convenient  point  for  the 


8o        HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

meeting  between  Plutina  and  the  officer.  Its  lone- 
liness lessened  the  element  of  danger.  Both  were 
prompt  to  the  rendezvous.  Well  under  the  hour, 
man  and  girl  were  standing  together  within  a  bower 
of  newly  blossoming  rhododendrons.  Above  them, 
the  naked  rock  bent  sharply,  its  granite  surface 
glistening  in  the  hot  noonday  sun.  They  had  with- 
drawn some  score  of  yards  from  the  old  wooden 
gate  that  barred  the  lane  here,  lest  a  chance  passer- 
by see  them  together.  Plutina  opened  her  mind 
without  hesitation.  The  decision  once  made,  she 
had  no  thought  of  drawing  back. 

"I  'low  I  kin  trust  ye,  Mister  Stone,"  she  said 
simply,  and  the  sincerity  of  the  lustrous  eyes  as 
they  met  his  confirmed  her  words.  ''Afore  you- 
all's  time  in  the  revenue  service,  raiders  done  kilt 
my  daddy.  I  kain't  never  fergive  them  men,  but 
they's  out  o'  the  service  now,  er  I  wouldn't  have 
come  to  ye.  Gran'pap  says  they's  a  better  lot  o* 
revenuers  now  'n  what  used  to  be  an'  he  says  as 
how  Marshal  Stone  don't  do  no  dirt.  Thet's  why 
I'm  a-trusting  ye,  so's  ye  kin  kotch  the  pizen-mean- 
est  white  man  a-makin'  likker  in  the  hull  Stonei 
Mountain  country — him  an'  his  gang  an'  his  still. 

The  marshal's  eyes  sparkled. 

"I  reckon   you're  talking  about  Dan  Hodges, 
he  interjected. 

Plutina  nodded  her  head  in  somber  acquiescence. 


)> 


j» 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE        8i 

"Then  you  needn't  have  any  scruples  about  giv- 
ing information,"  Stone  continued,  urgently.  ''He 
and  his  gang  are  a  menace  to  the  peace  of  the  settle- 
ment. I'll  keep  you  out  of  it,  of  course,  to  save  you 
embarrassment." 

"Ye'd  better,"  Plutina  retorted,  "to  save  my 
life.  I  don't  know's  I  mind  bein'  embarrassed  so 
much,  but  I  don't  feel  called  to  die  yit." 

"No,  no;  there  won't  be  anything  like  that,"  the 
marshal  exclaimed,  much  disconcerted.  "I'll  see  no 
trouble  comes  to  you.     Nobody'll  know  your  part." 

"  'Cept  me!"  was  the  bitter  objection.  "If  'twas 
anybody  but  that  ornery  galoot,  I  wouldn't  say  a 
word.     Ye  know  that." 

"I  know,"   Stone  admitted,   placatingly. 

In  his  desire  to  change  her  mood,  he  blundered 
on: 

"And  there's  the  reward  for  getting  the  'copper' 
— twenty  dollars  for  you  Plutina.  If  we  get  Hodges, 
I'll  give  you  another  fifty  out  of  my  own  pocket. 
That'll  buy  you  a  nice  new  dress  or  two,  and  a  hat, 
and  some  silk  stockings  for  those  pretty  legs  of 
yours." 

Plutina  flared.  The  red  glowed  hot  in  her  cheeks, 
and  the  big  eyes  flashed.  The  mellow  voice  deep- 
ened to  a  note  of  new  dignity,  despite  her  anger. 

"I  hain't  come  hyar  to  gas  'bout  rewards,  an' 
money  outten  yer  pocket,   Mister  Stone,  or  'bout 


82        HEART  OF.  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

my  clothes  an'  sech.  I'm  an  engaged  woman.  When 
I  wants  to  cover  my  legs  with  stockin's  Zeke  Hig- 
gins'  money'll  do  the  payin',  an'  he  won't  need  no 
he'p  from  no  damned  revenuer." 

Stone,  realizing  too  late  the  error  in  his  diplom- 
acy, made  what  haste  he  could  to  retrieve  it.  His 
smile  was  genial  as  he  spoke.  He  seemed  quite  un- 
abashed, just  heartily  sympathetic,  and  his  manner 
calmed  the  girl's  irritation  almost  at  once. 

*'0h,  you  little  mountain  hornet!  Well,  you  are 
telling  me  news  now.  And  its  the  kind  to  make  any 
old  bachelor  like  me  weep  for  envy.  Lucky  boy, 
Zeke!  I  guess  he  knows  it,  too,  for  he's  got  eyes  in 
his  head.  About  the  money — why,  you've  a  right 
to  it.  If  Dan  Hodges  and  his  gang  ain't  rounded 
up  quick,  they'll  be  killing  some  good  citizen — ^like 
me,  perhaps." 

Plutina  had  recovered  her  poise,  but  she  spoke 
no  less  firmly : 

"No,  suh,  I  won't  tech  the  money.  I  kin  show 
ye  how  to  kotch  the  hull  gang,  but  not  fer  pay,  an 
not  fer  love  o'  no  revenuer,  neither.  Hit's  jest  fer 
the  good  o'  this  country  hyarbout.  Dan  Hodges 
has  done  sot  b'ar-traps  to  kotch  you-all.  An'  anjf- 
body  might  walk  plumb  into  'em,  but  not  if  I  kin 
he'p  hit." 

Forthwith,  she  made  the  situation  clear  to  her 
eager  listener. 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE        83 

"Kin  you-all  meet  me,  an  hour  by  the  sun  in 
the  mornin',  on  the  trail  to  Cherry  Lane  post-office 
jest  beyond  the  Widder  Higgins'  clearin'  ?  I'll  take 
ye  to  the  place,  whar  ye  kin  see  the  still,  an'  the 
traps." 

*T'll  have  to  move  lively,"  the  marshal  answered, 
with  a  somewhat  rueful  laugh.  "Twenty  miles* 
ride  to  North  Wilkesboro',  and  back.  But  I'll  do 
it,  of  course.  I  wouldn't  miss  it  for  a  good  deal. 
I'll  have  my  men  waiting  at  Trap  Hill.  If  things 
shape  right,  I'll  make  the  raid  to-morrow  night." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

MARSHAL  John  Stone  was  a  mountaineer 
of  the  better  sort,  who  had  the  respect  and 
admiration  of  the  law-abiding  citizens  in 
his  district,  and  the  hate  of  the  evil-doers.  He 
stood  full  six  feet  in  his  socks,  and  he  was  broad 
and  muscled  in  proportion.  His  gray  eyes  were  of 
the  sort  to  harden  to  steel  against  an  enemy,  to 
soften  wonderfully  for  a  friend.  The  mouth,  half- 
hidden  by  the  thick  mustache,  was  very  firm,  yet 
prone  to  smiles.  To  an  excellent  intelligence  had 
been  added  a  fair  amount  of  education.  Since  he 
respected  both  himself  and  his  work,  and  had  de- 
veloped a  veritable  passion  for  the  capture  of  male- 
factors, he  was  more  than  usually  successful.  His 
zeal,  tempered  with  discretion,  had  won  the  appre- 
ciative attention  of  official  superiors.  There  could 
be  no  doubt  that  promotion  would  shortly  remove 
him  to  a  higher  plane  of  service.  The  fact  would 
have  been  most  agreeable  to  Stone,  but  for  two 
things.  He  desired  beyond  all  else,  before  going 
from  the  mountains,  to  capture  Dan  Hodges,  who 
had  so  persistently  flouted  the  law,  and  himself,  its 

84 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE        85 

representative;  the  second  unsatisfied  ambition  was 
to  come  on  the  long-lost  Burns'  still. 

The  Scottish  poet's  poverty  was  almost  equal  to* 
his  genius.  On  that  account,  Robert  Burns  was 
glad  to  secure  the  stipend  of  fifty-pounds  a  year  to 
which  he  became  entitled  on  his  appointment  as 
exciseman  in  1788.  It  may  be  that  his  convivial 
habits  made  his  official  position  particularly  accept- 
able, since  doubtless  his  perquisites  included  the 
keeping  of  his  own  jug  filled.  And  there  were 
moonshiners  among  the  Scottish  hills  in  those  days, 
as  perhaps  there  are  to-day.  On  occasion,  the  poet 
made  a  gift  of  a  captured  still  to  some  discreet 
friend.  One  recipient  emigrated  to  America,  and 
bore  into  the  wilderness  that  has  become  North 
Carolina  the  kettle  and  cap  of  copper  on  which 
Burns  had  graven  his  name,  and  the  date,  1790. 
Afterward,  as  the  years  passed,  the  still  knew  many 
owners,  mostly  unlawful.  It  won  fame,  and  this 
saved  it  from  the  junk-heap  of  its  fellows,  when 
seized  by  the  Federal  officers.  Three  times,  it  was 
even  placed  on  public  exhibition.  As  many,  it  was 
stolen  by  moonshiners.  For  years  now,  it  had  re- 
mained in  secret.  Marshal  Stone  yearned  to  re- 
capture the  Burns  still.  There  was  no  reason 
whatsoever  for  believing  it  to  be  in  the  possession 
of  Hodges,  yet  it  might  as  easily  be  with  that  des- 
perado as  with  another.     There  was  at  least  the 


86        HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

possibility.  The  marshal,  as  he  rode  north  before 
the  dawn  next  morning,  felt  a  new  kindling  of 
hope.  It  seemed  to  him  almost  certain  that  the 
opportunity  was  at  hand  to  satisfy  one  ambition  at 
least  by  putting  Hodges  behind  the  bars.  For  the 
other,  it  was  on  the  lap  of  the  gods. 

The  officer  was  at  pains  to  use  every  precaution  to 
avoid  being  observed  while  in  company  with  the 
girl,  whom  he  duly  met  at  the  appointed  place  while 
the  sun  was  yet  low  on  the  eastern  horizon.  The 
two  made  their  way  with  what  quiet  they  could 
through  devious  paths  to  Luffman's  Branch.  The 
dew  lay  heavy  on  the  laurel  leaves  of  the  thickets, 
and  the  breeze  was  perfumed  with  the  penetrant  fra- 
grance of  many  blossoms.  The  day  was  thrilling 
with  the  matins  of  the  birds.  The  balsamic  air  was 
a  wine  of  life.  The  rugged  mountain  peaks 
seemed  to  stand  as  an  impregnable  barrier  against 
the  confusions  and  evils  of  the  larger  world.  But 
the  man  and  the  girl  recked  nought  of  these  things 
as  they  went  forward,  with  cautious  steps  and 
watchful  eyes.  They  knew  that  the  tranquil  scene 
masked  wickedness  close  by  them,  which  would  not 
hesitate  to  destroy.  The  discovery  of  the  marshal 
in  that  vicinity  would  mean  for  him  the  bullet  of 
an  assassin  from  out  the  screen  of  leaves,  and  the 
same  fate — or  worse — for  his  companion.  The 
corpses  would  be  lost  in  the  Devil's  Cauldron.    Men 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE        87 

would  whisper  grim  surmises,  and  whisper  low  lest 
the  like  come  upon  them.     And  that  would  be  all. 

They  reached  the  cliff  top  overlooking  the  little 
canon,  and  Plutina  pointed  out  the  location  of  the 
traps  on  the  strip  of  dry  ground  below,  and  the  hud- 
dles of  brush  that  disguised  the  buildings  of  the  still. 
Then,  the  girl  went  her  way.  She  had  done  her 
part.  The  man  remained  to  study  the  scene  above 
for  hours  through  his  glasses,  and  to  map  out  the 
night's  campaign  into  the  enemy's  country. 

A  delicate  moonlight  fell  over  the  mountains, 
when,  in  the  evening,  Stone  led  his  men  from  the 
rendezvous  at  Trap  Hill.  The  six  were  heavily 
armed  and  well  mounted.  Their  course  at  the  out- 
set led  them  along  the  Elkin  road  to  Joines'  store, 
where  they  swung  into  the  trail  over  which  Zeke 
and  Plutina  had  walked  the  day  of  their  parting. 
The  cavalcade  rode  swiftly.  There  was  no  con- 
versation; only  the  pounding  of  hoofs  and  the 
jangling  of  accoutrements.  When,  at  last,  they 
reached  the  edge  of  the  Widow  Higgins'  clearing, 
they  turned  sharply  to  the  eastward,  following  the 
path  toward  the  Cherry  Lane  post-office.  Pres- 
ently, at  a  low  word  of  command  from  the  leader, 
they  halted  and  dismounted.  The  horses  were  left 
to  the  care  of  one  man  in  a  near-by  thicket,  and 
the  remainder  of  the  party  continued  the  advance 
on  foot. 


88        HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

The  marshal,  during  his  watch  on  the  still  that 
day,  had  planned  his  attack  in  every  detail.  He 
hoped  to  make  his  capture  of  the  gang  without  un- 
necessary casualties,  for  in  this  particular  he  had 
achieved  an  enviable  record,  on  which  he  prided 
himself.  At  first,  he  had  thought  of  ascending  along 
the  course  of  Luffman's  Branch,  after  springing 
the  traps,  but  had  given  over  the  plan  as  one  offer- 
ing more  chance  of  the  raiders  being  discovered 
prematurely.  Instead,  he  had  decided  on  taking  his 
men  up  the  mountainside  by  a  round-about  route, 
likely  to  be  free  from  watchers.  His  men  were  al- 
ready instructed  in  every  point,  so  now  they  fol- 
lowed him  rapidly  and  almost  noiselessly,  as  he 
forced  his  way  through  the  thick  growths  of  the 
wooded  slopes.  The  darkness  added  to  the  diffi- 
culties of  the  progress,  but  the  posse  were  inured  to 
hardships,  and  went  onward  and  upward  resolutely. 
Despite  the  necessities  of  the  detour,  they  came  sur- 
prisingly soon  to  a  height  from  which  they  looked 
across  a  small  ravine  to  the  level  space  where  the 
still  perched  by  the  stream.  A  few  whispered  words 
from  the  leader,  and  the  company  crept  with  in- 
creased care  across  the  ravine.  From  the  ridge 
beyond,  three  of  the  men  passed  forward  to  make 
ambush — one  above,  and  one  below,  and  one  on  the 
far  side  of  the  still.    Stone  and  a  single  companion 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE        89 

remained,  hiding  behind  the  clumps  of  rhododen- 
drons. 

It  was  with  huge  satisfaction  that  the  marshal 
recognized  Hodges  himself,  plainly  revealed  by  the 
firelight.  The  ''kettle"  was  running  at  full  blast. 
The  seasoned  hickory  logs,  in  the  rough  stone  fur- 
nace beneath  the  kettle,  were  burning  fiercely,  and 
the  blue  and  gold  of  their  flames  lighted  all  the 
scene  into  vivid  relief  against  the  background  of 
shadows.  Stone,  even  at  his  distance,  could  see  dis- 
tinctly the  tiny  stream  of  colorless  mountain-corn 
whiskey,  as  it  flowed  out  from  the  worm  into  the 
keg  placed  to  receive  it.  The  leader  of  the  gang 
was  seated  at  ease  on  a  stool  just  outside  the  brush 
enclosure  that  masked  the  buildings.  The  villain 
was  evidently  in  a  mood  of  contentment,  untainted 
by  remorse  over  the  havoc  his  traps  might  wreak 
on  any  passing  through  the  gorge  below.  Rather, 
doubtless,  the  memory  of  those  sinister  sentinels 
gave  him  a  sense  of  safety,  on  which  his  serenity 
was  founded.  In  his  lap  was  a  banjo  which  he 
thrummed  vigorously,  with  rhythmic  precision,  if 
no  greater  musical  art,  and  head  and  body  and 
feet,  all  gave  emphasis  to  the  movement.  At  in- 
tervals, his  raucous  voice  rumbled  a  snatch  of  song. 
It  was  evident  that  the  moonshiner  was  mellow 
from  draughts  of  his  own  potent  product. 

Othefs  of  the  gang  were  busied  here  and  there, 


90        HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

bulking  grotesquely  as  they  moved  about  the  fire, 
seeming  disheveled  demons  of  the  pit.  Like  some 
master  imp  torturing  a  pigmy  over  the  flames,  old 
Ben  York  was  kneeling  close  beside  the  blaze,  hold- 
ing to  the  coals  a  hickory  stick,  which  served  as 
spit  for  the  roasting  of  a  squirrel.  The  brilliance 
shone  full  on  the  frowsy  gray  whiskers,  and,  above 
them,  the  blinking,  rheumy  eyes,  so  intent  on  the 
proper  browning  of  the  game.  None  of  the  out- 
laws had  a  weapon  in  his  grasp — a  fact  noted  with 
satisfaction  by  the  chief  of  the  raiders,  who  knew 
that  these  men  would  not  scruple  against  bloodshed 
to  escape  arrest.  There  were  arms  at  hand,  of 
course;  Hodges'  rifle  was  visible,  leaning  against 
a  ground  pine  within  his  reach.  But  Stone  hoped 
that  the  surprise  would  be  such  that  the  gang 
could  not  avail  themselves  of  their  weapons. 

Hodges  had  just  completed  a  strident  rendering 
of  ^'Cripple  Crick,"  and  had  thumped  out  the  open- 
ing bars  of  ''Short'nin'  Bread,"  when  the  marshal 
gave  the  signal  for  attack — a  single  flash  of  his 
electric  torch.  In  the  same  second,  the  raiders' 
rifles  crashed  out.  The  big  bullets  struck  true  to 
aim  in  the  ground  of  the  open  place  before  the  fire. 
A  shower  of  dirt  and  pebbles  spat  back  viciously. 
Some  of  the  flying  fragments  struck  the  men,  terri- 
fying them  with  the  thought  of  bullet  wounds. 
Hodges,  as  the  reports  sounded,  felt  the  bruise  of 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE        91 

stones  on  his  bare  legs,  and  shrieked  in  panic  fear. 
His  instinctive  recoil  carried  him  over  backward, 
from  the  stool  to  the  ground.  The  banjo  jangled 
discordant  triumph  over  his  fall.  When,  dazed  by 
the  suddenness  of  it  all,  he  would  have  struggled 
up,  he  found  himself  fast  in  the  clutches  of  two  raid- 
ers, who  locked  manacles  on  his  wrists.  Stone 
grunted  joyously  as  he  surveyed  the  captive.  The 
others  of  the  gang,  except  Ben  York,  had  contrived 
to  slip  away  into  the  laurel,  whither  it  would  avail 
nothing  to  follow  them,  save  useless  risk  of  being 
killed  from  ambush.  But  the  marshal  cared  little 
for  the  escape  of  the  lesser  malefactors.  He  had 
succeeded  in  taking  prisoner  the  most  notorious 
criminal  of  the  mountains. 

Ben  York  had  failed  to  effect  his  usual  flight,  be- 
cause of  being  at  a  disadvantage  on  his  knees.  Be- 
fore he  could  scramble  up  for  a  plunge  into  the 
thickets  the  enemy  was  upon  him.  Yet,  even  in 
this  moment  of  shock,  the  old  scoundrel's  cunning 
sought  and  found  a  ruse.  He  stood  swaying  for 
seconds,  and  then  tumbled  limply  headlong  to  the 
ground,  in  a  drunkard's  fall,  familiar  to  his  muscles 
by  experience  through  three-score  years.  So  he  lay 
inert,  seemingly  sodden  from  the  kettle's  brew.  His 
captors,  if  resolved  to  hold  him  prisoner,  would  be 
forced  to  the  arduous  task  of  carying  him  through 
the  dark,   down  the   rough   slopes.      It   would   be 


92         HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

strange,  he  mused  complacently,  if  in  the  course  of 
the  journey,  their  vigilance  did  not  relax  a  little. 
And  a  very  little  would  suffice  him !  Then,  though 
to  all  appearance  in  a  drunken  stupor,  he  sighed.  He 
was  unhappily  aware  that  the  revenue  men  would 
not  be  gentle  in  their  efforts  to  arouse  him  to  con- 
sciousness. Whether  they  believed  him  shamming 
or  not,  they  would  use  no  doubtful  measures.  But, 
whatever  might  come,  he  must  endure  it  for  the 
sake  of  escape. 

The  raiders  realized  the  need  of  haste,  for  they 
must  be  done  with  their  work  here,  and  down  the 
steeps  of  the  mountain  into  the  open  road,  ere  the 
fugitives  should  have  time  to  arm  themselves,  and 
waylay  the  posse  from  the  thickets.  So,  with  due 
watchfulness  of  the  two  prisoners,  the  men  set  about 
that  task  of  destruction  which  their  duty  required. 
The  fermenters,  huge  tubs  holding  the  mixture 
of  meal,  malt  and  water  making  ready  for  the  still, 
received  first  attention.  Since  York  had  fallen  be- 
fore these,  the  men  rolled  him  roughly  to  one  side, 
without  arousing  him  to  any  sign  of  consciousness. 
Stone  knew  the  man  to  be  shamming,  since  there 
had  been  no  show  of  even  incipient  drunkenness 
before  the  moment  of  the  raid.  He  resolved  to  try 
a  test  at  least,  for  he  was  alert  to  the  hindrance  the 
limp  form  would  prove  in  the  descent  of  the  moun- 
tain.    He  thrust  the  body  forward  with  his  foot. 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE        93 

close  to  one  of  the  great  "stands"  of  the  mixture, 
and  bade  an  appreciative  assistant  apply  the  ax  to 
the  slippery-elm  hoops  that  bound  the  staves.  As 
the  bands  fell  and  the  great  volume  of  liquid  gushed 
forth,  the  raiders  leaped  aside  from  the  flood.  But 
York  never  stirred.  The  down-rushing  tide  fell 
fairly  on  him,  engulfed  him.  He  made  no  move- 
ment, no  outcry.  Even  Stone  himself  v^as  led  to  a 
half- remorseful  wonder  whether  he  had  been  de- 
ceived concerning  the  fellow's  state.  Then,  after 
a  few  seconds,  the  bald  head  rose,  glistening  from 
the  pool  of  the  ''beer."  The  thin  wisps  of  gray 
hair  hung  in  dank  strings;  the  jungle  of  beard 
seemed  strangely  thin;  there  was  something  curi- 
ously unlike  Ben  York  in  the  lineaments.  The 
marshal  guessed  that  the  metamorphosis  was 
wrought  by  the  swirling  mess,  which  had  scrubbed 
the  weazened  face  almost  clean  for  the  first  time 
in  the  memory  of  living  man.  As  the  dilapidated 
head  emerged,  it  showed  the  grotesque  caricature 
of  a  Neptune,  whose  element  was  not  the  waters 
of  ocean,  but  the  shattered  hogsheads  of  ''beer." 
Even  now,  however,  Ben  clung  to  his  role.  Once 
his  face  was  clear,  he  continued  to  sit  placidly, 
though  the  surface  of  the  viscous  pool  was  at  his 
neck.  For  better  effect,  he  blinked  vacuously,  and 
gurgled.  Perhaps,  memory  of  a  bath  in  infancy 
inspired  him.    He  had  had  none  since.    He  beat  his 


94        HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

scrawny  hands  in  the  "beer,"  and  cackled.  It  was 
admirable  art,  but  wasted. 

The  eight  fermenters  were  broken  and  emptied, 
the  whiskey  stores,  both  "singlin's"  and  "doublin's," 
were  poured  out  on  the  ground,  which  drank  them 
as  thirstily  as  did  ever  law-scorning  ''boomer." 
Then,  the  raiders  turned  to  the  chief  spoils,  kettle, 
cap  and  worm.  Stone  and  his  men  took  the  copper 
worm  from  the  cooling  barrel,  removed  the  cap, 
drew  the  fire  from  the  furnace,  and  finally  pulled 
down  the  kettle.  In  the  varied  excitement  of  the 
night,  the  marshal  had  almost  forgotten  his  second 
great  ambition,  in  the  accomplishment  of  his  first. 
Almost,  not  quite.  Now,  the  memory  of  it  jumped 
within  him.  He  thrust  the  cap  where  the  glow  of 
the  fire  would  light  it  clearly,  dropped  to  his  knees, 
and  peered  closely.  His  stern  face  relaxed  abruptly 
to  joyousness. 

"By  the  Lord,  boys,"  he  shouted,  "it's  the  Bobbie 
Burns'  still!" 

Nevertheless,  Stone  wasted  no  time  in  exultation. 
He  merely  ordered  his  men  to  carry  the  copper  uten- 
sils along,  instead  of  destroying  them  on  the  spot. 
Then,  he  addressed  Ben  York,  who  grinned  idioti- 
cally from  toothless  gums,  where  he  crouched  in  the 
diminishing  puddle.  The  marshal's  voice  rasped. 

''You're  going  with  us,  Ben.  It's  for  you  to 
say  how.     If  we  have  to,  we'll  carry  you — all  the 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE        95 

way.  We'll  snake  you  down  the  mountains  with- 
out being  too  almighty  careful  of  that  rum-tanned 
hide  of  yours,  and  then  we'll  sling  you  across  the 
roughest-gaited  horse  we've  got — face  down  across 
the  saddle  and  roped  snug.  That's  the  way  you'll 
do  twenty-odd  miles,  Ben,  if  we  have  to  tote  you 
down  a  single  rod.  Make  up  your  mind — now! 
It'll  be  too  late  to  change  it,  in  a  minute.  You're 
plumb  sober,  and  I  know  it.    Get  up,  you  old  fox  !'* 

And  Ben  York,  shivering  in  his  sticky,  drenched 
rags,  recognized  the  inevitable,  and  scrambled  to 
his  feet,  snarling  curses. 

*'Hit  was  thet-thar  damned  gal!"  he  mumbled 
venomously.     But  none  heard. 


CHAPTER  IX 

IT  is  a  far  cry  from  the  savagery  of  the  Illicit 
mountain  still  to  that  consummate  luxury  of 
civilization,  an  ocean-going  steam  yacht.  Yet, 
in  actual  space,  the  distance  between  these  two  ex- 
tremes was  not  great.  The  Josephine,  all  in  snowy 
white,  save  for  the  gleam  of  polished  brass-work, 
and  flying  the  pennant  of  the  New  York  Yacht  Club, 
glided  forth  from  Norfolk  Harbor  in  serene  mag- 
nificence on  the  same  day  that  The  Bonita  chugged 
fussily  over  the  same  course.  The  yacht  was  set- 
ting out  on  the  second  stage  of  her  leisurely  pleasure 
voyage  to  Bermuda.  The  skipper  had  been  in- 
structed to  follow  the  coast  southward  as  far  as 
Frying  Pan  Shoals,  for  the  sake  of  rounding  Hat- 
teras.  Afterward,  since  the  weather  grew  menacing, 
the  craft  continued  down  the  coast  to  Cape  Lookout, 
where  anchor  was  dropped  in  the  Harbor  of  Refuge. 
The  island  that  lies  there  is  a  long,  narrow,  bar- 
ren strip  of  sand,  dotted  thickly  with  dunes.  Only 
a  coarse  marsh  grass  grows,  with  dwarfed  pines  and 
cedars.  In  this  bleak  spot  live  and  thrive  droves  of 
wild  ponies,  of  uncertain  ancestry.     It  was  these 

96 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE        97 

creatures  that  just  now  held  the  attention  of  two  per- 
sons on  the  yacht. 

Under  the  awning  in  the  stern,  two  girls  were 
chatting  as  they  dawdled  over  their  morning  choco- 
late. The  younger  and  prettier  of  these  was  Joseph- 
ine Blaise,  the  motherless  daughter  of  the  yacht- 
owner;  the  other  was  Florence  Marlow  her  most 
intimate   friend.  , 

*'Dad  told  me  I  could  have  the  runabout  ashore," 
Josephine  was  saying,  with  a  sudden  access  of  ani- 
mation. *'We'll  go  along  the  beach,  as  long  as  the 
going's  good,  or  till  we  scare  up  the  ponies." 

**I  do  hope  we'll  see  them  digging  holes  in  the 
sand,  so  as  to  get  fresh  water,"  Florence  exclaimed. 

But  Josephine  was   quick  to  dissent: 

"They  don't  dig  for  water,"  she  explained,  with  a 
superior  air.  "They  dig  the  holes  in  the  beach 
when  the  tides  out,  and  then  the  tide  comes  in  and 
fills  the  holes,  of  course.  When  it  ebbs,  the  ponies 
go  around  and  pick  out  the  fish,  and  eat  them.'* 

Florence  stared  disbelievingly. 
'Oh,  what  a  whopper !"  she  cried. 
'Captain  Hawks  told  me  himself,"  Josephine  as- 
serted, with  confidence.  "He  knows  all  about  them — 
he's  seen  them  wild  on  the  island  and  tame  on  the 
mainland." 

"Same  oneS;  probably!"  was  the  tart  retort.  "I 


98        HEART  OE  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

thought  the  doctor  lied  ably,  but  he's  truth  itself 
compared  with  that  hairy-skipper  of  yours." 

Josephine  tossed  her  head. 

*'We'll  run  'em  down  and  observe  their  habits, 
scientifically,  and  convince  you.'* 

A  glance   shoreward  showed  the  car  awaiting 
them.    As  they  descended  the  ladder  to  the  launch, 
a  yelp  sounded  from  the  deck,  and  a  bull-terrier 
came  charging  after.     Florence  regarded  the  dog 
without  any  evidence  of  pleasure. 

*'Does  the  pest  go,  too  ?"  she  asked,  resignedly. 

Josephine  pulled  the  terrier's  ears  fondly,  as  it 
cuddled  close  against  her  skirt. 

"Chubbie  deserves  an  outing  after  the  bump  he 
got  from  that  horried  man  yesterday,"  she  said. 

The  girls  exchanged  glances,  and  laughed  over 
some  secret  joke.  When,  presently,  they  were  seated 
together  in  the  runaabout,  with  Josephine  at  the 
wheel,  the  bull-terrier  squatted  in  dignity  on  the 
small  back  seat.  The  level  sand  formed  a  perfect 
roadway,  and  the  car  darted  smoothly  and  swiftly 
between  the  twin  barren  spaces  of  land  and  sea. 
As  they  swept  forward,  the  girls  watched  alertly 
for  a  glimpse  of  the  ponies  among  the  dunes, 
but  there  was  nowhere  any  sign  of  a  living  thing, 
save  the  few  hurrying  gulls.  They  had  gone  per- 
haps twenty  miles,  and  were  beginning  to  fear  dis- 
appointment, when,  without  warning,  a  drove  of 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE         99 

the  horses  came  galloping  over  the  crest  of  a  little 
rise,  a  half-mile  beyond.  As  the  car  ran  forward, 
along  the  ribbon  of  sand  below  the  higher  ground, 
the  ponies  suddenly  perceived  it,  and  halted  with 
the  precision  of  a  troop  of  cavalry.  Near  at  hand, 
now,  the  girls  could  note  details,  and  both  observed 
with  interest  the  leader,  which  stood  a  little  in  ad- 
vance of  his  troop,  at  the  end  near  the  approaching 
machine.  He  was  a  handsome  creature,  with  lines 
as  suavely  strong  as  an  Arabian's.  He  stood  with 
head  held  high,  tail  streaming,  a  fore-hoof  pawing 
challengingly  at  the  sand.  Only  the  thick,  shaggy 
bay  coat  showed  the  barbarian,  rather  than  the  thor- 
oughbred. The  mares,  a  score  of  them  in  one 
orderly  rank  behind  him,  were  crowding  and  lash- 
ing out  nervously,  as  they  watched  the  strange 
monster  racing  so  fast  on  the  ocean's  edge.  Some 
of  them  nickered  curiously.  But  the  stallion  rested 
silent,  until  the  automobile  halted,  hardly  fifty  yards 
away.  Then  he  tossed  his  head  proudly,  and  blared 
a  great  trumpet-note  of  defiance.  Josephine  in- 
stinctively answered  with  the  horn.  The  mechani- 
cal cry  broke  harshly,  swelled  and  wailed.  The 
eerie  response  terrified  the  mares;  it  perplexed  and 
alarmed  their  lord.  But  he  showed  no  dismay.  For 
a  moment  still,  he  remained  motionless.  His  noisy 
challenge  rang  forth  once  again.  Since  the  invader 
on  the   sands  below   kept   silence,   nor  made   any 


loo      HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

movement  toward  attack,  the  leader  seemed  to  feel 
that  his  prestige  was  safe  enough;  that  prudence 
were  now  the  better  part.  He  sounded  a  low  call, 
and  set  off  at  a  gallop  along  the  ridge  top.  The 
rank  of  mares  pounded  obediently  at  his  heels. 

*'0h,  after  them,  Josie!"  Florence  cried. 

In  a  moment,  the  car  shot  forward.  The  horn 
clamored  again.  The  fleeing  horses  looked  back, 
then  leaped  to  new  speed  before  the  monster  that 
threatened  them  with  unknown  terrors.  As  the 
car  increased  its  pace,  the  ponies  strove  the  harder. 
Their  strides  lengthened,  quickened.  The  stunted 
marsh  grass  beat  on  the  low  bellies.  Despite  their 
desperate  striving,  the  runabout  drew  closer  and 
closer,  reached  abreast  of  them.  .  The  excitement  of 
the  chase  was  in  the  sparkling  eyes  of  the  girls. 
The  dog,  scrambling  up  and  falling  in  its  seat, 
yelped  madly.  Here,  the  beach  broadened  to  a 
sharper  ascent  of  the  ridge.  Josephine  shifted  the 
wheel.  The  car  swung  in  a  wide  curve  and  drove 
straight  toward  the  panic-stricken  troop,  as  if  it 
would  soar  up  to  them.  Fear  took  pride's  place  in 
the  leader's  heart.  He  sounded  a  command.  The 
flying  drove  veered,  vanished  from  the  ridge  top. 
The  muflled  thudding  of  hoofs  came  faintly  for  a 
minute  against  the  sea  wind.  Then,  as  the  car 
came  to  a  standstill,  the  girls  listened,  but  heard  no 
sound. 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE       loi 

"It  was  bully  fun!"  Josephine  said.  "I'm  sorry 
it  s  over. 

"After  that  run,  they  may  be  thirsty  enough  to 
dig  for  water,"  Florence  suggested,  with  a  laugh. 
"Let's  climb  up,  and  take  a  look  round  from  the 
ridge." 

But  a  glance  from  this  point  of  advantage  made  it 
clear  that  the  peculiarities  of  the  ponies  in  drinking 
or  fishing  were  not  to  be  explained  to-day.  They 
were  visible  still,  to  be  sure,  but  a  mile  off,  and  the 
rapidity  with  which  the  moving  mass  diminished  to 
the  eye  was  proof  that  they  were  still  in  panic. 

"We  might  as  well  get  back  to  the  yacht,"  was 
Josephine's  rueful  comment.  "There's  not  another 
single  thing  to  see,  now  they're  gone."  She  ran 
her  keen  gaze  over  the  dreary  waste  of  the  island 
with  a  little  shiver  of  distaste.  Then  her  glance 
roved  the  undulant  expanse  of  sea.  She  uttered  a 
sharp  ejaculation  of  surprise. 

"There  is  something,  after  all,"  she  called  out, 
excitedly.     "See — over  there!" 

Florence  looked  in  the  direction  marked  by  the 
pointing  finger. 

*Tt's  a  canoe,"  she  hazarded,  as  her  eyes  fell  on 
the  object  that  bobbed  lightly  in  the  surf,  two  hun- 
dred yards  from  the  shore.  "I  can  see  the  man  in 
it.    He's  lying  down.    Funny  I" 


102      HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

But  Josephine,  wiser  from  much  experience  on 
shipboard,  now  saw  clearly,  and  the  sight  thrilled. 

*lt's  a  Hfe-raft,"  she  declared,  with  a  tremor  in 
her  voice;  and  there's  a  man  on  it.  It's  a — real — 
castaway.     Come !" 

With  that,  she  set  off  running  down  the  steep 
slope  of  the  ridge  toward  the  sea.  Behind  her  came 
Florence,  startled  and  alarmed.  The  dog  barked 
exultantly  once,  then  leaped  ahead,  only  to  return 
and  circle  the  slowxr  playfellows  joyfully.  They 
came  to  the  water's  edge,  and  halted,  perforce. 
Josephine  saw  the  raft,  as  it  rode  on  a  breaking 
wave.  It  was  perceptibly  nearer.  She  dared  hope 
it  might  be  brought  within  reach.  With  deft  mo- 
tions, the  flannel  skirt  was  tucked  within  her  belt, 
leaving  her  legs  free.  Florence,  somewhat  reluc- 
tantly, made  the  like  adjustment.  The  bull-terrier, 
disheartened  by  this  immobility,  sat  on  its  haunches, 
and  regarded  the  two  doubtfully,  perhaps  prudishly 
disapproving.  From  time  to  time  the  raft  showed 
for  a  few  seconds;  only  to  vanish  again  behind  the 
screen  of  spume.  But  it  advanced  shoreward, 
steadily.  The  body  of  the  man  was  distinct — prone, 
motionless.  The  girls  watched  and  waited  in  palpi- 
tant eagerness.  The  dog,  sensing  the  tension  of  the 
moment,  began  to  hasten  to  and  fro.  snuffing  and 
whining.  Suddenly,  the  two  cried  out  in  the  same 
moment.      They   saw   the    raft   floating    fast   and 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE       103 

smoothly  toward  them  qu  the  crest  of  a  breaker. 
They  dashed  forward,  knee-deep,  to  meet  the  charge. 
The  huge  mass  of  the  wave  pounded  upon  them,  al- 
most swept  them  from  their  feet.  The  angry  waters 
boiled  about  them.  It  was  up  to  their  waists  now. 
The  flying  spray  lashed  their  faces  and  blinded 
them.  When,  at  last,  their  vision  cleared,  the  raft 
had  vanished.  They  caught  sight  of  it  again,  pres- 
ently. It  was  floating  from  them,  already  fifty  yards 
distant. 

Nevertheless,  the  girls,  though  discouraged,  did 
not  give  over  their  hope  of  rescue.  Not  even  when 
another  wave  thrust  the  raft  fairly  upon  them,  so 
that  their  hands  clutched  the  tubes,  then  tore  it  ruth- 
lessly from  their  puny  grasp,  and  flung  it  afar.  The 
dog,  accustomed  to  sporting  in  the  surf  with  its 
mistress,  rushed  to  seize  this  flotsam,  but  the  power- 
ful jaws  could  find  no  hold.  As  the  dog  approached, 
swimming,  Josephine  put  her  hand  to  its  collar,  and 
so  supported  it  while  they  waited  anxiously  for  the 
raft's  return. 

It  came  more  quickly  than  before.  It  was,  indeed, 
as  if  fate  finally  relented,  for  the  raft  was  borne 
this  time  on  a  smaller  wave,  almost  with  gentleness, 
as  it  seemed.  Yet,  the  gentleness  of  appearance  was 
only  mockery.  When  the  two  girls  laid  hands  on 
it  with  all  their  strength  it  swerved  violently, 
wrested  itself  from  their  clutch.    Josephine  cried  out 


104      HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

in  despair.  She  saw  the  dog,  released  by  her  effort, 
plunging  forward.  A  rope  dragged  in  the  raft's 
wake,  a  remnant  of  the  lashings.  The  dog  lunged 
viciously,  and  its  jaws  locked  on  the  rope.  Immedi- 
ately, then,  the  bull-terrier  began  swimming  toward 
the  shore.  There  was  no  progress.  But  the  going 
of  the  raft  was  momentarily  stayed.  Josephine  saw 
the  opportunity  and  shrieked  to  Florence.  The  two 
sprang,  and  caught  the  raft  again.  It  rested  pas- 
sively in  the  grasp  of  the  three.  The  dog  continued 
swimming,  its  face  set  resolutely  shoreward.  The 
girls,  up  to  their  breasts  in  water,  stepped  forward, 
tugging  lustily.  The  three  advanced  slowly.  The 
raft  moved  with  them. 

It  was  a  struggle  that  taxed  the  strength  of  each 
to  the  uttermost.  Those  three  puny  creatures  fight- 
ing against  the  might  of  the  ocean  for  the  body  of  a 
dead  man!  Dead  the  man  seemed,  at  least,  to  the 
girls,  who,  after  one  glance  into  the  drawn  and 
ghastly  face  of  their  burden,  dared  not  look  again. 
The  undertow  writhed  about  their  legs,  jerked  at 
them  wrath  fully.  Waves  crashed  upon  them  with 
shattering  force.  Once,  Florence  was  hurled  from 
her  footing,  but  her  hands  held  their  grip  on  the 
raft.  The  wrenching  shock  was  sustained  by  Joseph- 
ine and  the  dog.  They  gave  a  little,  but  with  fierce, 
stubborn  resistance.  Florence  regained  her  feet. 
The  rout  was  stayed.    The  pitiful  combat  between 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE       105 

pigmies  and  Titans  was  on  again.  There  was  good 
blood  in  the  three.  A  fighting  ancestry  had  dow- 
ered them  with  the  courage  that  does  not  know  de- 
feat when  it  is  met.  Their  strength  was  exhausted. 
Yet,  they  battled  on.  A  great  comber  smashed 
against  them.  It  snatched  the  raft  from  the  weak- 
ened hold  of  the  girls,  threw  it  far  up  on  the  sand. 
The  dog  shot  in  a  wide  arc  through  the  air.  They 
could  hear  its  grunt  as  it  fell.  But  the  jaws  were 
still  locked.  In  the  same  instant,  the  beast  was 
firmly  set,  hauling  at  the  rope.  The  raft  was  held 
for  a  little  by  the  dog  alone,  against  the  waters  as 
they  sucked  back.  Then,  the  girls  tottered  to  aid. 
They  fell  to  their  knees  in  the  shallows,  and  clung 
frantically.     The  waves  hissed  away  from  them. 

They  feared  the  coming  of  a  larger  breaker  to 
undo  their  work.  Josephine  perceived  to  her  aston- 
ishment that  the  man  was  not  fastened  to  the  raft, 
except  by  the  vise-like  gripping  of  his  big  hands. 
And,  too,  she  saw  now  that  he  was  living.  She 
guessed  that  he  was  stupefied  by  exhaustion,  yet 
not  swooning.  She  shrieked  to  him  to  unclench  his 
fingers.  It  may  be  that  his  dulled  brain  understood 
in  a  measure;  it  may  be  that  he  was  come  to  the 
very  end  of  his  strength.  Anyhow,  as  she  put  her 
fingers  to  his,  there  was  no  resistance.  The  grasp 
that  had  withstood  the  sea's  fury,  yielded  at  once 
to  the  soft  pressure  of  her  touch.     The  two  girls 


io6       HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

summoned  new  energy  to  the  task.  The  dog  let  go 
the  rope,  and,  whining  curiously,  caught  a  trouser 
leg  between  its  teeth,  and  aided.  Somehow,  the 
three  contrived  to  roll  and  push  and  pull  the  inert 
form  to  a  point  of  safety.  Then,  they  sank  down, 
panting. 

Josephine  stirred  first.  With  a  gasping  sigh,  she 
struggled  to  a  sitting  position.  The  dog  at  once 
stood  up,  and  shook  itself  with  great  violence.  The 
drops  splashed  over  the  face  of  Florence,  and  she, 
in  turn,  opened  her  eyes,  groaned  deeply,  and  sat 
up,  with  a  wry  smile  of  discomfort. 

"What'll  we  do  with  the  corpse?"  she  inquired, 
in  an  undertaker's  best  manner. 

The  funereal  suggestion,  so  sincerely  offered,  pro- 
voked Josephine  to  a  weak  peal  of  laughter. 

"Better  wait  to  worry  over  that  till  he's  dead," 
she  answered  briskly,  if  somewhat  incoherently. 
''And  he  will  be,  if  we  don't  watch  out.  There 
should  be  a  flask  in  the  motor.  Run  and  get  it,  Flo.' 
I'll  chafe  his  hands." 

"Run!"  the  other  exclaimed.  'Tf  I  can  crawl  it, 
I'll  be  proud."  Nevertheless,  she  got  to  her  feet, 
stiffly,  but  readily  enough.  "And  sprinkle  water 
on  his  face,"  she  called  over  her  shoulder.  "It 
might  cheer  him  anyhow,  after  having  had  it  all 
over  him  by  the  ton.    Both  girls  in  the  first  reaction 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE       107 

from  the  stress  of  their  war  against  death  were 
brimming  with  joyousness,  notwithstanding  fatigue. 

While  Josephine  rubbed  the  rough  hands  as 
strongly  as  she  could  between  her  own  tender  ones, 
the  dog  drew  near.  When  the  girl  looked  up,  she 
saw  that  her  pet  was  licking  the  man's  face.  She 
called  out  in  sharp  rebuke.  At  the  same  moment, 
the  castaway's  eyes  unclosed.  For  long  seconds,  he 
stared,  unblinking.  Then,  abruptly,  his  voice 
sounded  in  a  low  drawl  of  wonder : 

''Hit's  thet-thar  damned  man-faced  dawg!" 


CHAPTER  X 

THE  castaway's  gaze  went  to  the  girl  kneeling 
beside  him. 

"An'  the  furrin  woman!"  he  muttered. 
Florence  came  running  with  the  flask,  which  was 
full  of  brandy. 

''Quick !"  Josephine  urged.  "He's  better,  but  he's 
raving  crazy.     Thinks  I'm  a  foreigner." 

But,  as  Florence  could  have  filled  the  cup  of  the 
flask,  Zeke  interposed,  with  more  animation  than 
he  had  hitherto  shown. 

"If  so  be  that's  likker,  an'  ye  'lows  to  give  hit 
to  me,  if  hit  don't  make  no  p'tic'lar  diff'rence  to 
you-all,  I'd  like  to  drink  hit  right  smack  outen  thet- 
thar  new-fangled  bottle,  jest  as  we  be  a-used  to 
doin'  in  the  State  o'  Wilkes." 

"As  you  wish,  of  course,"  Florence  replied,  sooth- 
ingly.   "It  will  make  a  new  man  of  you." 

Zeke  promptly  sat  up  and  put  his  lips  to  the 
mouth  of  the  flask,  and  held  them  there  while  the 
rhythmic  movement  of  his  adam's  apple  visibly 
witnessed  thirstiness.  The  girls  regarded  him  with 
astonishment,  which  quickly  merged  in  dismay,  for 

108 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE       109 

they  could  not  guess  the  boomer's  capacity  for 
fiery  drink.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  Zeke,  while  he 
drank,  lamented  the  insipidity  of  the  draught,  and 
sighed  for  a  swig  of  moonshine  to  rout  the  chill 
in  his  veins  with  its  fluid  flames.  He,  in  turn, 
was  presently  to  learn,  with  astonishment,  that  a 
beverage  so  mild  to  the  taste  had  all  the  potency 
of  his  mountain  dram,  and  more.  Chilled  as  he 
had  been  by  the  long  hours  of  exposure  to  the 
night  air  of  the  sea,  while  drifting  the  fifteen  miles 
from  Ocracoke  Inlet,  and  worn  in  body  and  mind 
by  the  peril  of  his  situation,  Zeke  found  himself  al- 
most at  once  strengthened  and  cheered  by  the  gen- 
erous spirit.  He  was,  in  fact,  another  man  than  the 
exhausted  castaway,  as  the  girl  had  promised;  he 
was  himself  again.  He  was  still  weak  and  shaken; 
but  his  splendid  vitality  was  asserting  itself.  The 
gray,  drawn  face  was  colored  to  golden  tan;  the 
clear  eyes  were  shining  with  new  appreciation  of  the 
joy  of  life.  He  had  not  thought  much  after  the 
very  first,  during  those  long,  racking  hours  of  toss- 
ing on  the  sea.  His  brain  had  become  numb.  His 
fancies  had  run  to  tender  memories  of  moments 
spent  with  Plutina.  Often,  he  had  felt  her  pres- 
ence there  with  him,  in  the  dark  spaces  of  the  sea. 
But  the  idea  that  most  dominated  his  mind  had 
sprung  from  the  lusty  instinct  of  self-preservation; 
he  must  cling  to  the  raft.    It  had  been  the  one  thing 


no      HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

that  he  could  do  toward  safety.  His  whole  will 
had  centered  in  the  clutch  of  his  hands  on  the 
tubes. 

Seeing  the  man  thus  recovered,  the  girls  withdrew 
toward  the  runabout  to  adjust  their  clothing,  and 
to  find  some  garment  for  the  man,  since  he  wore 
only  shirt  and  trousers.  But  the  bull-terrier,  for  a 
wonder,  did  not  follow  its  mistress.  Instead,  it 
sat  on  its  haunches  close  to  the  mountaineer,  and 
muzzled  his  hand.    Zeke  pulled  the  dog's  ears  gently. 

*That  thump  I  gin  ye  must  'a'  struck  plumb 
down  to  yer  heart,  an'  made  a  right-smart  change 
in  yer  affections.  Ye  wa'n't  so  dummed  friendly 
when  ye  tuck  thet-thar  hunk  out  o'  my  pants." 

The  dog  whined  an  answer,  and  crept  fawning- 
ly  into  the  mountaineer's  lap,  where  it  nestled  con- 
tentedly. It  was  thus  that  the  girls,  returning  with 
a  rain-coat,  found  the  two,  and  they  stared  in  sur- 
prise, for  the  bull-terrier  was  none  too  amiable  with 
strangers. 

"I  never  knew  Chubbie  make  friends  like  that 
before,"  Josephine  exclaimed.  She  looked  in  fresh 
curiosity  upon  the  wholesome  face  with  the  regular 
features,  rather  stern  in  repose,  but  now  softened 
by  a  smile.  "It  must  be  because  he  helped  us  pull 
you  out.  We  couldn't  have  done  it  without  him. 
That  makes  you  belong  to  him,  in  a  way." 

Zeke  stared  at  the  dog,  with  new  respect. 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE       in 

"The  darned  son  of  a  gun!"  he  ejaculated, 
gravely.  "I  reckon,"  he  continued  after  a  medita- 
tive pause,  ''the  little  cuss  felt  like  he  ov^ed  me 
somethin'  fer  sp'ilin'  my  jeans.  That  crack  I  gin 
him  put  the  fear  o'  God  into  his  bosom,  so  to  speak. 
*The  more  ye  beat  'em,  the  better  they  be.'  " 

Josephine  started  at  his  v^^ords.  Without  a  hat, 
the  dark  curls  had  given  a  look  so  different  to  the 
face  that,  until  now,  she  had  not  recognized  the  man 
of  the  ferry-boat. 

''Why,"  she  cried,  "you  are  the  one !"  She  turned 
to  the  bewildered  Florence.  Her  blue  eyes  were 
flashing;  her  voice  was  hard.  "He's  the  creature 
that  almost  killed  Chubbie.  And  to  think  we 
troubled  to  save  him!" 

"That  hell-fired  pup  o'  your'n  took  a  holt  on  me 
first,"  Zeke  protested  wrathfully,  forgetful  of  his 
reconciliation  with  the  dog.  Then,  a  plaintive  whine 
recalled  him.  He  smiled  whimsically,  as  he  patted 
the  bull-terrier's  head,  which  was  lifted  toward  him 
fondly.  The  anger  died  out  of  his  face,  and  he 
smiled.  "I've  hearn  these-hyar  dumb  critters  git 
things  'bout  right  by  instinct,  somehow.  Yer 
dawg's  done  fergive  me.     Won't  you-all,  mum?" 

Josephine  hesitated.  The  ingenuous  appeal 
touched  her.  Only  pride  held  her  from  yielding. 

"An',  besides,"  Zeke  went  on,  "ye  was  a-sayin* 
as  how  the  dawg  kind  o'  felt  I  belonged  to  him  like. 


112       HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

bein'  he  he'ped  pull  me  out  o'  the  ocean,  an'  so  he 
had  to  like  me.  Thet-thar  argyment  goes  fer  you- 
all,  too,  mum.  So,  I  'low  ye  gotter  fergive  me — 
specially  kase  yer  dawg  begun  hit." 

Josephine  relaxed  with  a  ripple  of  laughter.  The 
mountaineer  both  interested  and  pleased  her.  To 
her  inevitable  interest  in  one  whom  she  had  helped 
to  save  from  death,  there  was  now  added  a  personal 
attraction.  She  perceived,  with  astonishment,  that 
this  was  by  no  means  the  hulking  brute  she  had 
deemed  him  when  her  pet  had  suffered  at  his  hands. 
The  dog's  attitude  toward  him  impressed  her 
deeply.  Moreover,  she  saw  that  he  was  intelligent, 
as  well  as  naive.  She  perceived  that  he  had  humor 
and  quickness  of  feeling.  His  responsiveness  to 
the  dog's  advances  pleased  her.  She  was  greedy  of 
experience  and  knowledge,  easily  bored  by  familiar 
things,  likely  to  be  vastly  interested,  for  a  brief 
season,  in  the  new  and  strange.  She  realized  that 
here,  ready  to  her  hand,  was  a  type  wholly  novel. 
She  felt  that  it  was  her  prerogative  to  understand 
something  of  the  nature  of  this  singular  being  thus 
cast  at  her  feet  by  fate.  Certainly,  it  would  be  ab- 
surd to  cherish  any  rancor.  As  he  had  said,  the 
dog's  action  sufficed.  Besides,  she  must  be  friendly 
if  she  would  learn  concerning  this  personality. 
Every  reason  justified  inclination.     She  rebelled  no 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE       113 

longer.  Her  blue  eyes  gleamed  with  genuine  kindli- 
ness, as  she  spoke : 

*1'11  take  Chubbie's  word  for  it."  Her  voice  be- 
came authoritative.  ''Now,  if  you  feel  equal  to 
standing  up,  we'll  have  this  rain-coat  on  you,  and 
then  run  you  down  to  the  yacht.  We'll  attend  to 
landing  you  somewhere  after  you've  rested  and  had 
something  to  eat." 

Already  Josephine's  brain  was  busy,  scheming  to 
her  own  ends,  but  of  this  she  gave  no  hint. 

Zeke  pushed  away  the  reluctant  dog,  and  rose 
up  stiffly.  The  stimulation  of  the  brandy  stood  him 
in  good  stead. 

*T  'low  I'm  havin'  a  right-smart  lot  of  experi- 
ence," he  remarked,  chuckling.  "What  with  steam- 
cars,  an'  boats,  an'  wrecks,  an'  now  one  o'  them 
ornery  devil-wagons.  I  hain't  a-feared  none,"  he 
added,  musingly,  "but  I  hain't  a-pinin'  neither.  I 
reckon  I  kin  stand  anythin'  what  gals  an'  a  dog  kin. 
I'm  plumb  nervous  or  hungry — I  don't  know  which. 
Both,  Hke's  not!" 

He  rejected  the  offer  of  support,  and  walked  firmly 
enough  to  the  machine,  which  he  eyed  distrustfully. 
Florence  took  the  rear  seat,  and  Zeke  established 
himself  beside  Josephine,  the  dog  between  his  feet. 
After  the  first  few  minutes,  he  found  himself  de- 
lighting in  this  smooth,  silent  rush  over  the  white 
sands.     In  answer  to  Josephine's  question,  he  gave 


114      HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

a  bare  outline  of  his  adventures  in  the  three  days  of 
his  absence  from  the  mountains. 

''I  was  a-hankerin'  arter  experience.''  he  con- 
cluded, *'an'  aimin'  to  make  my  everlastin'  fortin. 
I  been  doin'  pretty  peart,  so  fer." 

"You've  certainly  had  more  than  your  share  of 
experience  in  the  time,"  Josephine  agreed;  ''though 
I  don't  know  about  the  fortune." 

"Started  right-smack  off  at  the  rate  of  more'n 
seventy-five  thousand  dollars  a  year,"  Zeke  re- 
joined, complacently.  He  laughed  joyously  at  the 
bewildered  face  the  girl  turned  to  him. 

"I  done  figured  hit  out  las'  night,  not  havin' 
much  of  anythin'  to  do  on  thet-thar  raft,  'cept  to 
stick."  He  gave  an  account  of  the  capture  of  the 
negro  outlaw,  for  which  he  had  received  a  reward. 
"I'm  only  a-jokin',  of  course,"  he  went  on  with 
new  seriousness.  "I  hain't  pinin'  fer  no  foolishness. 
'All  I  want  is  enough  so's  not  to  be  hog-pore.  An' 
I  got  a  chance  to  learn  somethin',  an'  to  make  some- 
thin',  an',  arter  all,  go  right  on  livin'  in  my  own 
country.  An'  that's  what  Plutiny  wants,  too.  An* 
I'll  have  enough  to  buy  her  straighteners,  if  she 
wants  'em,  by  cracky!" 

"Oh — straighteners?"  Josephine  repeated,  mysti- 
fied. Vague  memories  of  a  visit  to  a  hospital  sug- 
gested an  explanation.  "Then,  this  person  ybu 
speak  of,  Plutina,  is  deformed?" 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE       iij 

"Deformed!"  For  an  instant,  Zeke  could  only 
repeat  the  word,  helplessly. 

"A  curvature  of  the  spine,  I  suppose,"  Josephine 
continued,  without  interest.  She  had  her  eyes  on  the 
ribbon  of  sand  now,  and  guessed  nothing  as  to  her 
companion's  disturbance,  until  his  voice  came  in  a 
burst  of  protest  that  made  her  jump. 

'Tlutiny — deformed!"  he  exclaimed,  harshly. 
Then,  his  voice  softened  wonderfully,  though  it 
shook  with  the  tensity  of  his  feeling.  "Why,  Plu- 
tiny's  better'n  anybody  else  in  all  the  world — she  is, 
an'  she  looks  hit.  Plutiny — deformed!  Why,  my 
Plutiny's  straight  as  thet-thar  young  pine  tree  a-top 
Bull  Head  Mounting.  An'  she's  as  easy  an'  grace- 
ful to  bend  an'  move  as  the  alders  along  Thunder 
Branch.  There  hain't  nary  other  woman  in  all  the 
world  to  ekal  my  Plutiny.  Plutiny — deformed  I 
Why,  mum,  you-all  talk  plumb  foolish." 

The  girl  was  too  astonished  before  this  outburst 
to  take  offense. 

"But  you  spoke  about  stralghteners  for  her,"  she 
protested. 

Zeke  stared  for  a  moment,  then  grinned  under- 
standingly. 

"Thet's  what  we-uns  call  'em,"  he  said.  "You- 
all  call  'em  corsets." 

Yet,  the  effect  of  this  conversation  reached  be^ 
yond   the  humorous.      In   some   subtle   fashion,   it 


1 1 6      HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

provoked  the  girl  to  keener  interest  in  the  young 
man.  She  was  perhaps,  though  she  would  have  de- 
nied the  suggestion  hotly,  a  little  piqued  by  the  exal- 
tation with  which  he  praised  his  rustic  sweetheart. 
Josephine  was  an  exceedingly  attractive  young 
woman,  and  she  was  accustomed  to  having  men 
show  their  appreciation  of  the  fact.  It  was  new  to 
her  thus  essentially  to  be  ignored,  and  not  quite 
agreeable.  There  could  be  no  tender  interest  be- 
tween herself  and  this  handsome  barbarian.  The 
idea  even  of  flirtation  was  quite  inconceivable. 
Nevertheless,  it  was  strange  that  he  should  be  so 
imperceptive  of  her  charms.  Doubtless,  his  eyes 
were  blind  to  the  refinements  of  beauty.  They 
should  be  opened.  It  w^ould  be  dreadful  if  the  fel- 
low should  grow  away  from  the  girl  who  was  wait- 
ing for  him.  And  yet —  Josephine  checked  her 
thoughts,  and  blushed  a  little.    But  a  plan  matured. 

That  plan  was  followed  diplomatically  when  she 
secured  a  private  interview  with  her  father,  after 
the  return  on  board  the  yacht. 

"Daddy,  dear,"  she  said,  with  a  manner  as  casual 
as  she  could  contrive,  "let's  keep  this  Mister  Hig- 
gins  on  board.  He's  bound  for  New  York,  but  in 
no  particular  hurry.  We'll  get  him  there  in  about 
ten  days. 

Mr.  Blaise,  w^ho  was  a  plethoric,  fussy/  little 
man,  adamant  to  all  the  world  save  his  only  child, 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE       117 

regarded  her  now  in  perplexity,  his  shrewd  eyes  a 
bit  mischievous. 

*'I  don't  imagine  it's  to  be  the  stereotyped  romance, 
just  because  you  dragged  him  out  of  the  sea,"  he 
said.  'The  chap  has  the  makings  of  considerable  of 
a  man  in  him,  and  he's  good-looking  enough  to  catch 
a  girl's  fancy;  but  he's  not  your  sort.     So,  why?" 

''Besides,"  Josephine  retorted,  smiling.  "Flor- 
ence has  the  same  right  in  him  as  treasure  trove. 
That  would  make  the  romance  too  complicated." 
,  "Why?"  Mr.  Blaise  repeated. 
-  "I've  never  met  anyone  like  him,"  the  girl  ex- 
plained, with  truth,  if  not  all  the  truth.  "He's 
unique.  I  want  to  study  him.  Such  knowledge  is 
broadening — better  than  books." 

"Bosh!"  was  the  comment.  "You  mean,  he's  just 
a  freak  to  you,  and  you'd  like  to  look  him  over  a 
little  longer.  There's  no  harm  in  that,  if  it  amuses 
you.  But  don't  be  silly  about  broadening  yourself." 
He  regarded  his  daughter  critically.  "And  leave 
out  the  deserts.  They're  too  broadening,  if  you  like. 
You're  getting  plump." 

Josephine  accepted  this  meekly,  in  her  satisfaction 
over  having  her  way  as  to  the  new  guest. 

"I'll  go  and  invite  him,  right  away,"  she  ex- 
claimed.   "He'll  liven  us  up. 

But  her  father  wrinkled  his  brows  in  doubt. 

"What  about  the  effect  on  the  young  fellow,  him- 


ii8       HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

self?"  he  demanded.  'Tt  can't  do  him  any  good, 
Josie.     That  sort  of  thing's  unsettHng,  you  know." 

Josephine  attempted  no  reply,  as  she  went  on  her 
way.  Her  father  could  not  see  the  flush  that  touched 
her  cheeks. 

Through  such  devious  ways  did  it  come  to  pass 
that  the  mountaineer  entered  a  world  of  which  he 
had  never  even  dreamed.  His  own  complete  ig- 
norance of  social  conditions  prevented  him  from 
appreciating  the  marvel  wrought  by  fate  in  his  be- 
half. In  the  simplicity  of  his  character,  he  accepted 
the  change  as  a  perfectly  natural  event  in  the  world 
that  he  had  set  out  to  explore.  It  was  this  simplic- 
ity, which  kept  him  from  undue  self-consciousness, 
that  carried  him  safely  through  what  must  other- 
wise have  been  an  ordeal.  He  accepted  what  had 
befallen  thankfully,  and  sought  to  learn  what  he 
best  might  from  the  novel  environment.  His  inter- 
est was  conspicuously  in  others,  not  in  himself.  He 
was  greedy  of  information,  lavish  in  liking.  By  a 
benign  miracle,  there  were  no  snobs  in  the  yacht- 
ing party,  which  included  also  two  young  men,  and 
two  of  the  owner's  age,  besides  Josephine's  aunt. 
This  chaperon  was  a  motherly  soul,  and,  in  sheer 
kindliness  of  heart  did  much  to  make  the  situation 
easy.  The  informality  of  the  party,  too,  was  a 
tremendous  advantage  to  the  young  man,  though 
he  never  guessed  it.     On  the  contrary,  he  accepted 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE       119 

things  as  they  were  enthusiastically,  with  never  a 
thought  of  dismay.  In  flannels  loaned  him  by  the 
largest  guest,  which  fitted  too  snugly,  he  presented 
an  appearance  so  excellent  that  Mr.  Blaise  was 
moved  to  pinch  his  daughter's  ear,  while  reminding 
her  of  the  stereotyped  romance. 

Such  was  the  cause  of  Plutina's  wearisome  wait- 
ing for  the  letter  that  did  not  come.  Zeke  found,  to 
his  distress,  too  late  that  an  interval  of  a  week  or 
more  must  elapse  before  a  letter  posted  in  Bermuda 
could  possibly  reach  the  mountains.  But,  beyond 
that,  there  was  nothing  to  disturb  the  girl  who  loved 
him.  The  heart  of  the  lad  amid  the  luxuries  of  life 
on  the  yacht  was  unchanged  in  its  devotion.  It  was, 
indeed,  as  if  he  saw  all  things  as  a  frame  for  her. 
He  was  forever  thinking  how  Plutina  would  look 
here  or  there,  in  connection  with  this  or  the  other. 
The  gowns  of  the  three  women,  were  viewed  criti- 
cally in  relation  to  the  mountain  girl.  He  would 
imagine  her  loveliness  enhanced  by  the  sheen  of  silk, 
by  the  films  of  lace,  by  the  lusters  of  jewels.  Jose- 
phine thought  once  when  she  appeared  in  a  dainty 
evening  frock,  not  too  daring,  that  she  had  pene- 
trated his  armor  of  aloofness,  for  he  blushed  hotly 
as  his  eyes  went  to  her  neck,  and  his  gaze  fell.  She 
was  deceived.  He  remembered  in  that  moment, 
how  he  had  once  kissed  the  soft  whiteness  of  Plu- 
tina's throat,  where  the  home-spun  gown  lay  open. 


120       HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

Now,  memory  of  the  warm  bliss  of  that  kiss  sent 
the  blood  racing  and  tingling. 

That  self-deception  was  as  near  as  Josephine  ever 
came  to  triumph. 

Florence  understood,  to  some  extent,  at  least,  the 
mood  that  influenced  her  friend.  A  feminine  intui- 
tion inspired  in  her  a  like  ambition  to  pierce  this 
young  savage's  reserve.  Through  her  own  feeling, 
she  readily  divined  that  of  Josephine.  Thus,  the  two 
became  unconfessed  allies  in  the  employment  of 
their  wiles  against  an  unsuspecting  victim.  It  was, 
indeed,  the  lack  of  suspicion  on  his  part  that  irri- 
tated them  to  the  point  of  exasperation.  He  was  so 
utterly  innocent  of  their  manoeuvers  against  his 
peace !  Both  of  the  girls  were  attractive  beyond  the 
average.  Josephine,  a  plump  blonde,  ingenuous  of 
manner,  sophisticated,  capricious,  yet  not  spoiled, 
egotistic,  but  winsome,  full  of  electric  vitality; 
Florence,  taller  and  darker,  with  an  air  more  sedate, 
yet  doubtless  capable  of  deeper  and  more  enduring 
emotions.  Each  possessed  excellent  features,  and 
the  fascinations  of  radiant  health,  sufficient  culture, 
and  the  most  exquisite  refinements  of  personal  de- 
tail. They  deserved  the  humble  admiration  of  any 
man.  They  expected  tender  adulation  from  most, 
and  from  most  they  received  it.  At  the  outset  a 
certain  impassivity  on  the  part  of  this  wild  moun- 
taineer  excited   their   astonishment,   then,   quickly, 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE       121 

their  dissatisfaction.  They  were  moved  to  a  caprice 
against  his  calm,  against  this  indifference  that  was 
an  affront.  They  had  no  wish  to  work  him  serious 
harm,  but  his  disregard  was  intolerable.  Since 
the  heart  of  neither  was  engaged,  there  was  no 
jealously  between  them  in  the  affair.  Since  each  was 
secretely  ashamed  of  her  motives,  there  was  no  con- 
fidence between  them. 

Their  failure,  in  the  lazy  days  and  evenings  of 
voyaging  and  of  rambling  in  the  Bermudan  islands, 
was  undeniable.  It  was  the  more  aggravating  since 
the  young  man  patently  admired  them.  Even,  his 
admiration  was  excessive,  almost  reverential,  at 
times.  Yet,  it  was  altogether  impersonal.  They 
came  eventually  to  know  that  this  mountaineer  re- 
garded them  with  warm  friendliness,  with  a  lively 
gratitude,  with  a  devoted  respect,  with  a  certain 
veneration.  But  that  was  all.  No  dart  from  their 
quiver  of  charms  touched  to  the  passionate  heart  of 
him — nor  ever  could.  From  whichever  side  the 
shafts  were  thrown,  always  they  were  shattered 
against  a  white  shield,  and  fell  harmless.  That 
shield  was  Plutina. 

One  night,  as  the  yacht  neared  New  York,  Jose- 
phine and  Zeke  sat  together,  watching  the  scud  of 
clouds  across  the  moon.  The  mountaineer  spoke 
softly,  after  an  interval  of  silence. 


122       HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

"The  clouds  is  runnin'  thar  jest  as  I've  seen  'em 
lookin'  out  across  the  valley  from  Stone  Mounting 
— with  Plutiny."  There  was  a  caress  in  his 
voice. 

Josephine  checked  an  ejaculation  of  impatience. 
The  savage  was  incorrigible — quite!  Him,  and 
his  everlasting  Plutina!  Perverse  curiosity  over- 
came discretion.  Perhaps,  too,  after  all,  he  only 
needed  guidance.  She  tried  to  believe,  though 
vainly,  that  only  shyness  prevented  him  from  im- 
proving an  opportunity  any  other  man  would  have 
coveted. 

*'Tell  me,"  she  said  softly,  with  a  sympathetic 
lure  in  her  tones,  *'is  Plutina  so  very  beautiful?" 

The  lure  was  effective.  Zeke  turned  to  her  with 
the  hazel  eyes  darkly  luminous  in  the  moonlight. 

"Tiny's  beautiful,"  he  answered  tenderly;  and 
there  was  music  now  in  the  slow  drawl.  "I  'low 
she's  the  most  beautiful  woman  in  the  world." 

*T'm  afraid  you're  prejudiced,"  Josephine  ob- 
jected, with  a  disarming  laugh.  *'0f  course,  you 
ought  to  think  so,  but,  really  you  know,  you 
haven't  quite  seen  all  the  beautiful  women  in  the 
world.     Now,  have  you?" 

"All  I  need  to,"  was  the  confident  assurance. 
"Why,"  he  continued  with  an  apologetic  smile  for 
his  boldness.    "I  done  seen  you-all.  Miss  Blaise,  an' 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE       123 

I  reckon  you-all  are  about  as  beautiful  as  a  woman 
kin  be — 'ceptin'  Plutina." 

The  tribute  was  potent  from  its  very  unexpected- 
ness. It  eased  the  chagrin  from  which  vanity  had 
suffered.  Evidently,  her  charms  were  not  disre- 
garded. It  was  simply  that  this  lover  had  given  his 
heart,  and  that  he  was  loyal.  The  girl  sighed  a 
little  enviously  at  the  realization.  She  knew  too 
well  that  many,  perhaps  most,  in  her  world  were  not 
loyal,  even  when  their  hearts  were  given.  She 
wondered  if,  in  truth,  there  awaited  her  the  boon 
of  a  like  faithfulness.  Yet  she  persevered  in  her 
probing. 

"Out  in  the  world,"  she  said  musingly,  ''where 
things  are  so  different  from  up  in  your  mountains, 
you  may  change.  It  may  be  you  won't  want  to  go 
back,  to  the  hills — to  Plutina." 

A  flush  of  wrath  burned  in  Zeke's  cheeks,  visible 
in  the  gloom. 

''Hit  ain't  fittin  fer  you-all  to  say  no  such  thing, 
Miss  Blaise.  But  I  kin  fergive  ye,  kase  ye  hain't 
seen  our  mountings.  They  hain't  no  other  place 
more  beautiful.  Mister  Sutton  done  told  me  so, 
an'  he's  been  all  over  the  hull  world.  An',  besides, 
hit's  home.  A  man  what  don't  love  his  home  coun- 
try better'n  any  other — why,  mum,  he's  jest  a  plain 
skunk.     ...     An'  Plutiny,  she's  the  best  part  o' 


.124      HEART  OF.  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

home.  There  hain't  no  land  so  beautiful,  nor  no 
woman.  No,  mum,  I  sha'n't  change — never!  I 
kain't!" 

And  Josephine  knew  that  it  was  so,  and  once 
again  she  sighed. 


CHAPTER  XI 

UNCLE  DICK,  as  he  was  universally 
known  in  the  mountains,  had  celebrated 
his  eightieth  birthday  before  his  grand- 
daughters, Plutina  and  Alvira,  by  leaping  high  in 
the  air,  and  knocking  his  heels  together  three  times 
before  returning  to  the  ground.  There  was,  in  fact, 
no  evidence  of  decrepitude  anywhere  about  him. 
The  thatch  of  coal-black  hair  was  only  moderately 
streaked  with  gray,  and  it  streamed  in  profuse 
ringlets  to  his  shoulders.  His  black  eyes  were  still 
keen ;  the  leathery  face,  with  its  imperious  features, 
was  ruddy.  He  carried  his  six-foot-three  of  bone 
and  muscle  lightly. 

As  of  the  body,  so  of  the  heart.  The  springs  of 
feeling  in  him  showed  no  signs  of  drying  up.  On  the 
contrary,  they  threatened  to  gush  forth  in  a  new 
flood  over  the  Widow  Brown,  on  whose  plump 
prettiness,  hardly  dimmed  by  her  three-score  years, 
he  looked  with  appreciative  and  ardent  eyes.  In- 
deed, his  conduct  justified  the  womenfolk  of  his 
household  in  apprehensions,  for  witness  to  the  ser- 
iousness of  the  affair  was  afforded  the  morning 

125 


126      HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

after  the  raid  on  Dan  Hodges'  still.  He  demanded 
of  Alvira  that  she  burn  the  grease  from  an  old 
skillet  with  great  care. 

"li  they's  a  mite  of  hit,  hit  makes  a  scum,  an' 
floats  off  the  gold  on  hit,"  he  explained. 

The  sisters  regarded  each  other  in  consternation, 
but  forebore  questioning.  When  he  had  mounted 
his  mare,  and  ridden  away,  Plutina  spoke  with  bit- 
terness :    • 

'T  reckon  Mis'  Higgins  done  hit  the  nail  on  the 
haid  'bout  Gran'pap  an'  the  Widder  Brown." 

Alvira  nodded. 

"Yep.  Hit  means  business,  shore,  if  he's  a-galla- 
vantin'  over  to  Pleasant  Valley  to  pan  gold.  Hit 
means  he's  aimin'  to  marry  her."  She  waxed  scorn- 
ful, with  the  intolerance  of  her  sixteen  years.  *'Hit's 
plumb  ridic'lous — at  his  age." 

"Seems  like  he  was  'most  ole  enough  to  git  sense," 
Plutina  agreed. 

"Mebby  we're  mistook  'bout  his  intentions,"  Al- 
vira suggested,  hopefully.  "O'  course,  he  git's  a  heap 
of  enjoyment  settin'  to  Widder  Brown.  But  he  hain't 
got  to  be  plumb  foolish,  an'  marry  her.  I  guess  as 
how  hit's  fer  you-all  he's  arter  the  gold  kase  Zeke'll 
be  comin'  home  by-'n'-bye." 

Plutina  shook  her  head  dubiously.  It  was  the 
custom  of  the  lover  himself  to  seek,  in  the  gold- 
bearing  sands  of  the  tiny  mountain  stream  to  the 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE       127 

west,  for  the  grains  from  which  to  fashion  a  ring  for 
his  sweetheart.  Many  a  wife  of  the  neighborhood 
wore  such  proudly  on  forefinger  or  thumb.  The  old 
man  was  not  fond  enough  of  toil  to  undertake  the 
slow  washing  out  of  gold  there  unless  for  a  selfish 
sentimental  reason.  And  her  fears  were  confirmed 
that  afternoon  by  Zeke's  mother  whom  she  visited. 

''They  hain't  nary  chance  to  save  him  no  more/" 
the  old  woman  averred,  lugubriously.  "Hit's  alius 
been  said  hyarbouts  as  how  a  feller  alius  gits  his 
gal  shore,  if  he  pans  her  a  ring  in  Pleasant  Valley." 

"Huh— girl!"     quoth  Plutina. 

Yet  this  amorous  affair  was  of  small  moment  just 
now  to  the  granddaughter,  though  she  voluntarily 
occupied  her  thoughts  with  it.  She  hoped  thus  to 
keep  in  the  background  of  her  mind  the  many  fears 
that  threatened  peace,  by  reason  of  her  part  in  the 
night's  work.  She  knew  that  she  could  trust  the 
secrecy  of  Marshal  Stone,  but  there  was  the  pos- 
sibility of  discovery  in  some  manner  unforeseen. 
There  was  even  the  chance  that  suspicion  against 
her  had  been  aroused  in  Ben  York.  She  could  not 
bear  to  contemplate  what  must  follow  should  her 
betrayal  of  the  still  become  known.  It  was  a  relief 
to  be  certain  that  the  two  men  she  chiefly  dreaded 
would  be  in  jail,  and  unable  personally  to  wreak 
vengeance.  It  was  improbable,  she  thought,  that 
persons  so  notorious  and  so  detested  could  secure 


,128      HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

bail.  But,  even  with  them  out  of  the  way,  the  case 
would  be  disastrous  on  account  of  her  grandfather's 
hatred  of  the  revenue  officers,  and  more  especially, 
of  those  among  his  own  people  guilty  of  the  base- 
ness of  informing.  Should  her  deed  come  to  his 
knowledge,  it  would  mean  tragedy.  She  dreaded 
the  hour  when  he  should  hear  of  the  raid,  and  was 
glad  that  he  had  gone  away,  for  in  all  likelihood  he 
would  have  the  news  before  his  return  and  the  first 
shock  of  it  would  have  passed.  ...  So  it  fell  out. 
Uncle  Dick  rode  briskly  toward  the  little  stream 
that  tumbles  down  the  mountain  west  of  Air  Bel- 
lows Gap,  where  long  ago  men  washed  for  gold  in 
feverish  desire  of  wealth.  Now,  none  sought  a 
fortune  in  the  branch  grit,  where  a  day's  labor  at 
best  could  yield  no  more  than  a  dollar  or  two  in 
gold.  Only  devoted  swains,  like  himself,  hied  them 
there  to  win  wherewithal  for  a  bauble  with  which  to 
speed  their  wooing.  Uncle  Dick  chose  a  favorable 
spot,  and  washed  steadily  until  the  blackened  old 
copper  skillet  itself  shone  like  the  flecks  of  gold  he 
sought.  When  he  ceased  he  had  a  generous  pinch 
of  the  precious  dust  carefully  disposed  in  a  vial. 
He  hid  the  skillet  to  serve  another  day,  and  set  out 
on  his  return.  Before  he  crossed  Garden  Greek,  a 
neighbor,  whom  he  met  on  the  trail,  told  him  of  the 
raid.  Eager  for  all  particulars,  Uncle  Dick  turned 
his  mount  into  the  high  road,  and  hurried  to  Joines* 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE       129 

store.  The  single-footing  mare  carried  him  quickly 
to  this  place  of  assembly  for  neighborhood  gossip, 
where  he  found  more  than  the  usual  number 
gathered,  drawn  by  excitement  over  the  raid.  The 
company  was  in  a  mixed  mood,  in  which  traditional 
enmity  against  the  ''revenuers"  warred  against  per- 
sonal rejoicing  over  the  fate  fallen  on  Dan  Hodges, 
whom  they  hated  and  feared.  From  the  garrulous 
circle  of  his  acquaintance.  Uncle  Dick  speedily 
learned  the  history  of  the  night.  The  account  was 
interrupted  by  the  coming  of  a  clerk  to  the  store 
door.  He  waved  his  hand  toward  the  group  on  the 
steps  to  command  attention. 

"You,  Uncle  Dick!"  he  called.  *'No'th  Wilkes- 
boro'  wants  ye  on  the  telephone." 

Wondering  mightily  at  the  unexpected  summons, 
the  old  man  hurried  to  the  instrument. 

"Hello!  Hello!"  he  roared,  in  a  voice  to  be 
heard  across  the  miles. 

"Be  that  you-all,  Uncle  Dick?"  the  question  came 
thinly. 

"Yep.     Who  be  you?" 

"Hit's  Dan  Hodges.  I  reckon  you-all  done  hearn 
'bout  last  night." 

"Yep.  I  shore  have  hearn  a  heap,"  Uncle  Dick 
acquiesced,  sourly.  "I  tole  ye  to  quit,  the  officers 
air  gittin'  so  a'mightly  peart.  They  hain't  no  more 
chance  fer  a  good  set  o'  men  to  make  a  run — to  say 


J 30      HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

nothin'  of  a  wuthless  gang  like  your'n.    .    .    .  \^'hat 
ye  want  o'  me?" 

The  reply  was  explicit  enough. 

*'The  hearin'  's  to-morrer  'fore  the  United  States 
Commissioner.  Marshal  Stone  says  the  bail'U  be 
two  thousand  dollars,  cash  or  land.  They  hain't 
nobody  kin  put  hit  up,  'cept  you-all,  Uncle  Dick. 
An',  if  ye  don't,  Ben  an'  me'll  have  to  lay  in  jail 
till  Fall.  H  ye'll  he'p  me,  Uncle  Dick,  ye  know 
Dan  Hodges  won't  never  fail  ye." 

"That's  what  I'm  afeared  on,"  Uncle  Dick  re- 
torted, glumly.  "I  'most  know  'twas  you-all  an'  yer 
gang  kilt  thet-thar  heifer  o'  mine  in  cold  blood. 
Now,  the  ole  man  ye've  treated  dirt  is  yer  las' 
chance.  Wall,  cuss  ye!  I'll  come  down  t'-morrer 
an'  bail  ye  out — not  kase  I  love  ye  any,  but  kase  I'm 
again  the  revenuers.  An'  listen  'ere !  I'm  some  old, 
but  I'm  some  spry  yit,  ye  bet!  You-all  stop  round 
these  parts  whar  I  kin  keep  an  eye  on  ye  till  Fall 
Cote.  If  ye  don't,  damn  ye! — wall,  my  ole  rifle's 
bright  an'  'iled,  an'  I'll  git  ye !  Jest  remember  thet, 
Dan  Hodges:  I'll  git  ye!"  And  with  this  grim 
warning.  Uncle  Dick  slammed  the  receiver  on  its 
hook,  and  stalked  out  of  the  store. 

On  the  following  day,  he  journeyed  duly  to  North 
Wilkesboro',  where,  despite  the  protest  of  his  law- 
yer, he  put  up  his  land  as  security  for  the  appear- 
ance of  the  two  malefactors.     Uncle  Dick  was  a 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE       131 

consistent  conservative.  Had  the  accident  of  birth 
made  him  an  Enghsh  squire,  he  would  have  been 
a  stanch  Tory,  would  have  held  the  King's  commis- 
sion on  the  bench  of  justices,  and  would  have  ad- 
ministered the  penalties  of  the  law  with  exceeding 
severity  against  poachers.  Having  been  born  in  the 
Blue  Ridge  Mountains,  he  staked  his  property  in 
behalf  of  two  scoundrels,  for  the  sake  of  an  in- 
herited feud  against  the  Federal  authority. 

Nevertheless,  his  personal  distrust  of  the  men 
he  had  thus  relieved  was  made  manifest  when,  im- 
mediately after  the  commitment  of  the  two  before 
the  Commissioner,  he  betook  himself  to  a  hardware 
store,  where  he  bought  a  forty-one  caliber  Colt's 
revolver,  with  a  holster  and  a  box  of  cartridges. 
He  had  given  up  the  habitual  carrying  of  weapons 
on  his  seventy-fifth  birthday,  as  unseemly  and  un- 
necessary for  one  of  his  patriarchal  years.  Now,  he 
reverted  to  the  use  as  a  measure  of  prudence. 

*'The  damned  dawg's  done  me  dirt,  an'  he  hain't 
above  doin'  hit  ag'in,"  he  muttered,  as  he  strapped 
the  holster  beneath  his  left  arm. 

To  his  womankind,  Uncle  Dick  spoke  of  the 
affair  casually,  concealing  his  apprehensions. 
Neither  of  the  granddaughters  ventured  remon- 
strance, though  Alvira's  pretty  face  was  mutinous, 
and  Plutina  felt  a  sickening  sense  of  calamity  rush- 
ing upon  her.  It  seemed  to  her  the  irony  of  fate  that 


132       HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

her  own  relation  should  thus  interfere  to  render 
abortive  the  effect  she  had  risked  so  much  to  secure. 
She  realized,  with  a  shrinking  misery,  that  the  suf- 
ferers from  her  act  were  now  at  liberty  to  inflict 
vengeance  upon  her,  should  suspicion  be  born  in 
them.  For  the  first  time  in  her  life,  Plutina  ex- 
perienced a  feminine  cowardice,  bewailing  her  help- 
lessness. There  was  none  to  whom  she  might  turn 
for  counsel ;  none,  even,  in  whom  she  might  confide. 
It  was  no  mere  chimera  of  fear  that  beset  her.  She 
was  far  too  sensible  and  too  strong  for  hysterical 
imaginings.  But  she  knew  that  her  peril  was  real 
and  grave.  In  the  face  of  it,  she  felt  suddenly  a 
new  longing  for  the  absent  lover.  Hitherto,  her 
fondness  had  been  tender  and  passionate,  touched 
with  the  maternal  protectiveness  that  is  instinctive 
in  every  woman.  Now,  a  new  desire  of  him  leaped 
in  her.  She  yearned  for  rest  on  his  bosom,  secure 
within  the  shelter  of  his  arms,  there  to  pour  forth 
all  the  story  of  her  trouble,  there  to  hear  his  voice 
of  consolation,  there  to  be  at  peace.  She  touched 
the  fairy  crystal  that  lay  between  her  breasts,  and 
she  smiled,  very  sadly,  and  very  wistfully. 

"Zeke  will  shorely  come,"  she  whispered,  "if  I 
need  him — bad  enough." 

There  was  a  tremor  in  her  voice,  but  it  was  not  of 
doubt. 


CHAPTER  XII 

EARLY  in  the  morning  following  his  trip  to 
North  Wilkesboro'  Uncle  Dick  Siddon  rode 
off  to  Pleasant  Valley,  there  to  prosecute  his 
sentimental  labors  for  the  pleasuring  of  the  Widow 
Brown.  Alvira  fared  abroad  on  some  errand  to  a 
neighboring  cabin.  Plutina,  her  usual  richness  of 
coloring  dimmed  by  a  troubled  night,  was  left 
alone.  In  the  mid-forenoon  she  was  sitting  on  the 
porch,  busy  over  a  pan  of  beans,  which  she  was 
stringing  for  dinner.  As  she  chanced  to  raise  her 
eyes,  she  saw  Dan  Hodges  coming  up  the  path.  At 
sight  of  the  evil  lowering  face,  repulsion  flared  hot 
in  the  girl.  The  instinct  of  flight  was  strong,  but 
her  good  sense  forbade  it.  She  felt  a  stirring  of 
unfamiliar  terror  in  the  presence  of  the  man.  She 
scorned  herself  for  the  weakness,  but  it  persisted. 
Her  very  fear  dictated  the  counsels  of  prudence.  She 
believed  that  in  dissimulation  lay  her  only  possibil- 
ity of  safety.  The  thought  of  any  intercourse  with 
the  moonshiner  was  unspeakably  repugnant,  yet  she 
dared  not  risk  needless  offense.  Nevertheless,  the 
first  effect  of  her  resolve  was  a  self -contempt  thaf 

133' 


134      HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

moved  her  to  wrath,  and  made  her  opening  speech 
more  venomous  even  than  it  had  been  otherwise. 

"Howdy,  my  httle  honey?"  Hodges  called  out  as 
he  shambled  to  a  halt  before  her.  His  coarse  fea- 
tures writhed  in  a  simper  that  intensified  their  ugli- 
ness. His  coveting  of  this  woman  was  suddenly 
magnified  by  sight  of  her  loveliness,  flawless  in  the 
brilliant  light.  The  blood-shot  eyes  darted  luxuri- 
ously over  the  curving  graces  beneath  the  scant 
homespun  garment. 

The  girl  sensed  the  insult  of  the  man's  regard.  It, 
rather  than  the  insolent  familiarity  of  address,  pro- 
voked her  outburst. 

Shet  yer  mouth,  Dan  Hodges,"  she  snapped. 
I've  done  told  ye  afore,  ye  kain't  'honey'  me.  If 
ye  wants  to  pass  the  time  o'  day,  jest  don't  fergit 
as  how  hit's  Miss  Plutiny  fer  you-all." 

Hodges  gaped  bewilderedly  under  the  rebuke. 
Then  he  growled  defiantly. 

"Wall,  I'll  be  dogged!  Quite  some  spit-fire, 
hain't  ye?  Reckon  I  know  what's  a-bitin  on  ye. 
Ye're  mad  kase  Uncle  Dick  tuk  the  mounting  land 
ye  gals  look  to  heir  to,  to  bail  me  and  Ben."  He 
stared  at  the  girl  ominously,  with  drawn  brows.  His 
voice  was  guttural  with  threatening.  "So  be  ye 
mout  hev  to  eat  them  words  o'  your'n.  Mebby, 
when  I've  done  tole  ye  a  thing  er  two,  ye'll  be  a-ask- 
in'  of  me  to  call  ye  'honey.'     Mebby,  ye'll  want  to 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE       135 

hover  yer  ole  'hon,'  arter  I  let's  ye  know  a  thing 
or  two  'bout  the  doin's  o'  you-all  an'  thet  damned 
little  runt,  thet  reportin'  dawg  sweetheart  o'  your'n 
— Zeke  Higgins." 

The  girl  was  stricken.  She  understood  the  out- 
law's reference.  Somehow  he  had  gained  certain 
knowledge  of  Zeke's  part  in  saving  the  Quaker- 
school-teacher  spy.  She  realized  that  the  criminal 
gang  would  not  hesitate  at  the  murder  of  one  who 
had  thus  foiled  them.  For  the  moment,  she  gave  no 
heed  to  the  danger  that  menaced  herself  as  well. 
Her  whole  concern  was  for  her  lover.  The  single 
comfort  came  from  the  fact  of  his  absence.  Much 
as  she  had  been  longing  for  his  coming,  her  prayer 
now  was  that  he  should  not  return  until  these  men 
were  imprisoned. 

With  a  fierce  effort  toward  bravery  in  the  face  of 
catastrophe,  Plutina  stood  up,  and  drew  herself 
proudly  erect.  Her  dark  eyes  flashed  wrathfully. 
She  spoke  with  disdain : 

''Ye  wouldn't  dast  say  that  to  Zeke  Higgins' 
teeth.  Mebby,  he  hain't  so  thick  through  as  you-all, 
and  he  hain't  so  thick-headed,  nuther.  An'  he  hain't 
no  runt,  as  ye'd  find  quick  'nuf,  if  so  he's  ye  dast 
stand  up  to  him,  man  to  man,  'stid  o'  with  a  gun 
from  the  laurel.  He's  a  man — what  you-all  hain't. 
He  hain't  the  kind  to  layway  from  the  bushes,  ner 
to  be  a-stealin'  his  neighbor's  cattle  an'  hawgs.    An* 


136      HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

what's  more  Dan  Hodges,  ef  ye  say  as  how  Zeke 
ever  reported  ary  still,  ye're  a  hell-bustin'  liar!" 

Her  jibes  were  powerless  against  the  coarse- 
fibered  brute.  He  grinned  malevolently  as  he  jeered 
at  her. 

*Thar,  now!  Hain't  it  a  pity  to  have  a  sweet- 
heart what  hain't  brave  'nuf  to  stand  'is  ground, 
an'  runs  off,  an'  leaves  'is  gal  to  fit  fer  'im."  Then, 
abruptly,  the  moonshiner's  expression  changed  to 
one  meant  to  be  ingratiating.  "Wall,  now.  Miss 
Plutiny,  I  shore  likes  the  way  ye  stan's  up  'fer  the 
pore  cuss.  But,  arter  all,  hes'  done  up  and  left  ye. 
An'  he  hain't  comin'  back.  Hit  wouldn't  be  healthy 
fer  him  to  come  back,"  he  added,  savagely.  "An' 
what's  more,  ye  hain't  a-gwine  to  jine  'im  whar  he's 
at.  The  Hodges'  crowd  won't  stan'  fer  no  sech! 
He's  been  writ,  Zeke  Higgins  has,  with  the  sign 
o'  the  skull  an'  the  cross — the  hull  thing.  Ye  know 
what  thet  means,  I  reckon." 

Plutina  blenched,  and  seated  herself  again,  weak- 
ly. It  was  true,  she  knew  the  fantastic  rigmarole, 
which  made  absurd  the  secret  dictates  of  these  il- 
literate desperadoes.  But  that  absurdity  meant 
death,  none  the  less — death  for  the  one  she  loved. 
In  her  misery,  she  listened  almost  apathetically  as 
Hodges  went  on  talking  in  his  heavy,  grating 
voice. 

"Zeke  Higgins  knows  as  how  the  Aliens  give  us 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE       137 

the  word  'bout  'is  crossin'  Bull  Head  with  the  spy. 
He  knows  thet,  if  'e  shows  up  in  this-hyar  kentry 
ag'in,  the  Devil's  Pot'U  have  'im  fer  a  b'ilin'.  An' 
thet's  'nuf  fer  Zeke's  case.  Now,  we'll  jest  chin  a 
mite  'bout  your'n." 

There  was  a  little  interval  of  silence,  in  which 
the  girl  stared  unseeingly  toward  the  splendors  of  the 
blossoming  rhododendrons  that  fringed  the  clearing. 
The  apathy  had  passed  now,  and  she  listened  intent- 
ly, with  self-control  to  mask  the  despair  that  welled 
in  her  heart.  It  seemed  to  her  that  here  was  the  need 
for  that  dissimulation  she  had  promised  herself — 
need  of  it  for  life's  sake,  however  hateful  it  might 
be,  however  revolting  to  her  every  instinct.  So  she 
listened  in  a  seeming  of  white  calm,  while  the  flames 
shriveled  her  soul. 

The  man  straightened  his  great  bulk  a  little,  and 
regarded  the  girl  with  new  earnestness.  Into  his 
speech  crept  a  rude  eloquence,  for  he  voiced  a  sin- 
cere passion,  though  debased  by  his  inherent 
bestiality. 

'Tlutiny  Siddon,  I've  knowed  ye,  an'  I've  craved 
ye,  this  many  year.  Some  way,  hit  just  seemed  as 
how  I  couldn't  he'p  hit.  The  more  ye  mistreated 
me,  the  more  I  wanted  ye.  Hit  shames  me,  but 
hit's  true  as  preachin'.  An'  hit's  true  yit — even 
arter  seein'  yer  bare  futprint  tracks  thar  on  th^ 
Branch,  alongside  them  of  a  man  with  shoes — the 


138       HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

damned  revenuer  what  got  us.  Ye  showed  'im  the 
place,  Plutiny  Siddon — cuss  ye,  fer  a  spy!  .  .  . 
An'  I  craves  ye  jest  the  same.  .  .  .  An'  I'll  have 
ye — right  soon!" 

At  this  saying,  terror  mounted  high  in  the  girl. 
The  thing  she  so  dreaded  was  come  to  pass.  She 
forgot,  for  a  few  moments,  the  threats  against  her 
lover.  Despair  crushed  her  in  the  realization  of 
discovery.  Her  treachery  was  known  to  the  man  she 
feared.  The  peril  she  had  voluntarily  risked  was 
fallen  upon  her.  She  was  helpless,  at  the  mercy  of 
the  criminal  she  had  betrayed — and  she  knew  that 
there  was  no  mercy  in  him.  She  shrank  physically, 
as  under  a  blow,  and  sat  huddled  a  little,  in  a  sudden 
weakness  of  body  under  the  soul's  torment.  Yet 
she  listened  with  desperate  intentness,  as  Hodges 
went  on  speaking.  She  cast  one  timid  glance  toward 
him,  then  dropped  her  gaze,  revolted  at  the  gro- 
tesque grimaces  writhen  by  the  man's  emotions. 
^  "Harkin  to  me.  Miss  Plutiny !"  he  pleaded,  husk- 
ily. "Harkin  to  me !  I  knows  what  I'm  a-doin'  of. 
.They  hain't  nothin'  ye  kin  do  to  stop  me.  Kase 
why?  Wall,  if  ye  love  yer  gran-pap,  ye'll  hold  yer 
tongue  'bout  all  my  talk.  Yep!  He's  done  pledged 
his  land  to  keep  me  an'  Ben  out  o'  the  jail-house  till 
cote.  If  ye  tells  'im  I'm  a-misusin'  o'  ye,  he'd  cancel 
the  bond,  an'  try  to  deliver  me  up.  I  knows  all 
thet.    But  he  wouldn't  cancel  no  bond,  an'  no  more 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE      :i39 

he  wouldn't  do  any  deliverin'  o'  me  up.  Kase  why? 
Kase  he'd  jest  nacherly  die  fust.  Thet's  why.  The 
land'd  be  good  fer  the  bond  jest  the  same  till  Fall. 
Thet'd  give  me  an'  Ben  a  heap  o'  time  to  git  ready  to 
light  out  o'  this-hyar  kentry.  They  hain't  nary 
pusson  a-goin'  to  bother  us  none.  They  knows  hit's 
healthier  a-mindin'  their  own  business.  I  been 
dodgin'  revenuers  fifteen  year,  an'  I'll  dodge  ag'in, 
an'  take  my  savin's  along,  too.  An'  they's  quite 
some  savin's,  Plutiny." 

Hodges  paused,  as  if  to  give  greater  impressive- 
ness  to  the  conclusion  of  his  harangue.  His  voice  as 
he  continued  held  a  note  of  savage  finality. 

"So,  ye  understand,  Plutiny,  I  hain't  afeared 
none  arter  what  I  done  told  ye'U  happen,  if  so  be  ye 
talk.  I  knows  ye  love  yer  gran'pap,  an'  hain't  a 
hankerin'  fer  'im  to  be  murdered.  Now,  I'm  gwine 
to  leave  ye  till  t'-morrer,  to  git  kind  o'  used  to  the 
idee  as  how  ye're  gwine  to  leave  this-hyar  kentry 
with  me  arter  I  pays  yer  gran'pap  the  money  fer 
the  bail.  If  you-all  is  so  plumb  foolish  as  to  say 
no,  hit'll  jest  leave  yerself  an'  yer  kin  in  the  hands 
o'  we  boys  to  reckon  with.  Do  as  I'm  a-sayin'  on, 
an'  I'll  shore  fergit  'bout  yer  reportin'  the  still. 
I'll  jest  'low  to  myself  as  how  ye  was  only  a  gal, 
an'  used  damn'  poor  jedgment.  I  hold  hit  were 
powerful  unkind  o'  you-all,  seein'  as  how  we-uns 
hain't  never  wronged  ye  none.     I  suspicion  ye  had 


140      HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

hit  figgered  out  as  how  Zeke  could  come  back  'ere 
a'gin  if  ye  had  me  kotched.  Wall,  little  missy,  Dan 
Hodges  air  jest  a  mite  too  cunnin'  fer  ye."  The 
boaster  gloated  over  his  cowering  victim,  malice 
sparkling  in  his  lustful  eyes. 

It  seemed  to  the  girl  that  she  was  in  truth  hope- 
lessly ensnared  by  fate.  Her  harried  thoughts  ran 
in  a  circle,  dizzily.  She  could  find  no  loophole  for 
escape  from  the  net.  The  mesh  of  the  outlaw's  dev- 
iltry was  strong;  her  flutterings  were  feeble,  futile. 
She  found  one  ray  of  comfort  in  Zeke's  absence. 
She  forgot  it  in  distress  for  the  danger  to  her 
grandfather.  Then,  horror  for  herself  beat  upon 
her  spirit.  But  a  memory  of  her  first  resolve  came 
to  her.  From  stark  necessity,  she  put  her  whole 
reliance  on  an  effort  to  temporize.  She  felt  that 
her  only  recourse  in  this  emergency  must  lie  in 
deceiving  the  ruffian  who  thus  beset  her.  Much  as 
she  abhorred  him,  she  had  no  choice.  There  was 
none  to  whom  she  could  appeal  for  succor.  She 
must  depend  absolutely  upon  her  ability  to  beguile 
him.  She  must  hide  the  revulsion  inspired  by  his 
mere  presence.  She  must  arm  herself  with  the 
world-old  weapons  of  her  sex,  and  by  wiles  blind 
him  to  the  truth  of  her  feeling,  gain  time  for — 
something,  anything!  At  least  here  was  room  for 
hope,  uncertain,  absurd  even,  yet  hope.     A  little 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE       141 

color  crept  to  her  pallid  cheeks.  If  she  could  but 
manage  the  deceit  to  secure  delay  until  the  Fall. 

She  raised  her  eyes  furtively  toward  the  adver- 
sary, an  appraising  glance,  as  if  to  judge  his  gulli- 
bility. The  brutish  passion  of  the  man  showed  in 
the  pendulous  lower  lip,  thrust  forward  a  little,  in 
the  swinish  lifting  of  the  wide-flaring  nostrils,  in 
the  humid  glowing  of  the  inflamed  eyes.  A  nausea 
of  disgust  swept  over  her.  She  fought  it  down. 
Then,  with  hypocrisy  that  amazed  herself,  she  met 
his  ardent  stare  boldly,  though  with  a  pretense  of 
timidity.  She  spoke  with  a  hesitant,  remonstrant 
voice,  as  if  in  half-hearted  protest, 

*'Hit's  dangerous  to  talk  hyar,  Dan,"  she  said! 
She  assumed  a  pose  of  coquetry.  "If  I  agrees  to 
save  Gran'pap  an'  'is  land,  an'  takes  ye,  have  ye  got 
money  'nough  fer  us  to  git  along  among  the  furri- 
ners  down  below  ?"  A  pleased  smile  showed.  "An* 
could  ye  buy  me  purty  clo's  an'  sech-like?  Don't 
ye  dast  lie  to  me,  Dan  Hodges,  fer  a  woman  wants 
plenty  o'  nice  fixin's.  An'  if  ye  means  hit  all,  like 
ye  says,  I'll  meet  ye  at  Holloman  Gate  t'-morrer  at 
twelve,  an'  give  ye  yes  er  no." 

The  moonshiner  received  with  complacence  this 
evidence  of  yielding  on  the  girl's  part.  He  had,  in- 
deed, the  vanity  that  usually  characterizes  the  crimi- 
nal.  It  was  inconceivable  to  his  egotism  that  he 


142       HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 


must  be  odious  to  any  decent  woman.  Plutina's 
avaricious  stipulation  concerning  money  pleased 
him  as  a  display  of  feminine  shrewdness.  He  was 
in  nowise  offended.  The  women  of  his  more  inti- 
mate acquaintance  did  not  scruple  to  bargain  their 
charms.  From  such  trollops,  he  gained  his  estimate 
of  the  sex.  The  sordid  pretense  by  Plutina  com- 
pleted his  delusion.  The  truckling  of  familiars  had 
inflated  conceit.  He  swelled  visibly.  The  finest 
girl  in  the  mountains  was  ready  to  drop  into  his 
arms!     Passion  drove  him  toward  her. 

Plutina  raised  her  hand  in  an  authoritative  ges- 
ture. She  could  feign  much,  but  to  endure  a  caress 
from  the  creature  was  impossible.  Somehow,  by 
some  secret  force  in  the  gesture,  his  advance  was 
checked,  he  knew  not  why. 

*'Not  now,  Dan,"  she  exclaimed,  sharply.  She 
added  a  lie,  in  extenuation  of  the  refusal :  "Alviry's 
in  the  house.  Besides,  I  got  to  have  time  to  think, 
like  ye  said.    But  I'll  be  at  the  gate  t'-morrer." 

Hodges  accepted  her  decree  amiably  enough.  He 
was  still  flattered  by  her  complaisant  attitude  toward 
his  wooing. 

"Ye're  talkin'  sense,  Plutiny — the  kind  I  likes  to 
hear.  I'll  be  thar,  waitin'  fer  ye,  ye  kin  bet  on  thet." 
Then  his  natural  truculence  showed  again  in  a  part- 
ing admonition :  ''An'  don't  you-all  try  fer  to  play 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE       143 

Dan  Hodges  fer  a  fool.    If  so  be  ye  does,  ye'll  wish 
to  God  ye  hadn't.'' 

With  the  threat,  he  turned  and  went  lumbering 
down  the  path,  to  vanish  quickly  within  the  shadows 
of  the  wood. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

AFTER  his  day  of  toil  in  Pleasant  Valley, 
Uncle  Dick  Siddon  sprawled  at  ease  on  the 
porch,  smoking  his  pipe,  and  watching  with 
mildly  sentimental  eyes  the  rosy  hues  of  the  cloud 
masses  that  crowned  Stone  Mountain.  His  mood 
was  tranquilly  amorous.  The  vial  in  his  pocket  was 
full  of  golden  grains.  Presently,  he  would  fashion 
a  ring.  Then,  heigh-ho  for  the  parson !  He  smiled 
contentedly  over  his  vision  of  the  buxom  Widow 
Brown.  Her  placid  charms  would  soothe  his  de- 
clining years.  A  tempestuous  passion  would  be 
unbecoming  at  his  age.  But  the  companionship  of 
this  gentle  and  agreeable  woman  would  be  both  fit- 
ting and  pleasant.  Really,  Uncle  Dick  mused,  it 
was  time  he  settled  down.  One  should  be  sedate  at 
eighty.     But  he  sighed. 

A  horseman  appeared  over  the  brow  of  the  hill. 
The  horse  traveled  slowly,  as  if  wearied  by  many 
miles.  A  single  glance  at  the  erect,  soldierly  figure 
made  known  to  Uncle  Dick  that  this  was  a  stranger, 
and  he  watched  intently.  As  the  rider  came  nearer, 
he  hesitated,   then  guided  his  mount  toward  the 

144 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE       145 

clearing.  Uncle  Dick  perceived,  of  a  sudden,  that 
the  left  sleeve  of  the  stranger's  coat,  which  was 
pinned  across  the  breast,  was  empty.  At  the  sight,  a 
great  sadness  fell  on  him.  He  guessed  the  identity 
of  the  horseman.  His  soul  was  filled  with  mourn- 
ing over  a  shattered  romance.  He  fairly  winced  as 
the  rider  drew  rein  before  him,  with  a  cheery, 
"Howdy?" 

There  was  a  curious  constraint  in  Uncle  Dick's 
voice,  as  he  made  hospitable  answer. 

"Howdy,  yerse'f,  Stranger?  'Light,  an'  come 
in." 

"I  hain't  time  to  'light,"  the  traveler  declared. 
"Jones  is  my  name.  What  mout  your'n  be?" 

Uncle  Dick  descended  the  steps,  regarding  the 
visitor  intently.  There  was  a  perceptible  aloofness  in 
his  manner,  though  no  lack  of  courtesy. 

"My  name  passes  f'er  Siddon.  I  'low  ye  hain't 
familiar  round  these-hyar  parts?" 

"I'm  right-smart  strange,  I  reckon,"  was  the  ad- 
mission. "But  I  was  borned  forty-mile  south  o' 
here,  on  the  Yadkin.  My  father  owned  the  place 
Daniel  Boone  lived  when  he  sickened  o'  this-hyar 
kentry,  kase  it  wa'n't  wild  'nough.  I'm  kin  ter 
Boone's  woman — Bryant  strain — raised  'twixt  this- 
hyar  creek  an'  Air  Bellows." 

"Wall,  say  ye  so !"  Uncle  Dick  exclaimed,  heart- 
ily.   "Why,  I  knowed  ye  when  ye  was  a  boy.    You- 


146      HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

all's  pap  used  to  buy  wool,  an'  my  pap  tuk  me  with 
'im  to  the  Boone  place  with  'is  Spring  shearin'. 
Thet  makes  we-uns  some  sort  o'  kin.  Ye'd  better 
'light  an'  take  a  leetle  breathin'  spell.  A  drink  o' 
my  ole  brandy  might  cheer  ye.  An'  ye  know,"  he 
concluded,  with  a  quick  hardening  cf  his  tones, 
"hit's  customary  to  know  a  stranger's  business  up 
in  these-hyar  mountings." 

The  horseman  took  no  offense. 

*T  rid  up  to  the  balcony  jest  to  make  inquiry  'bout 
a  friend  what  I  hain't  seed  in  a  right-smart  bit,  an' 
who  I  learnt  was  a-livin'  a  lonely  widder's  life  on 
Guarding  Creek.  Could  you-all  direct  me  to  the 
abode  o'  one  Widder  Brown?  I  hev  some  private 
an'  pussonal  business  with  the  widder.  Hit's  a 
kind  what  don't  consarn  nary  human  critter  but 
me  an'  her." 

Uncle  Dick  sought  no  further  for  information, 
but  issued  the  requested  direction,  and  moodily 
watched  the  horseman  out  of  sight.  Then,  with  a 
sigh  that  was  very  like  a  groan,  he  moved  away 
toward  a  small  outbuilding,  in  which  was  a  forge. 
Here  when  he  had  set  the  forge  glowing,  he  took 
from  his  pocket  the  vial  of  gold  dust,  and  emptied 
the  contents  into  a  ladle.  When  the  metal  was 
melted,  he  poured  off  the  dross,  and  proceeded  to 
hammer  the  ingot  into  a  broad  band.  Eventually, 
he  succeeded  in  forming  a  massive  ring  of  the  vir- 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE      147 

gin  gold.  But,  throughout  the  prosecution  of  the 
task,  there  was  none  of  that  fond  elation  which 
had  upborne  him  during  the  hours  while  he  gath- 
ered the  material.  On  the  contrary,  his  shaggy 
brows  were  drawn  in  a  frown  of  disappointment. 
He  cursed  below  his  breath  from  time  to  time,  with 
pointed  references  to  one-armed  veterans,  who  dast 
come  back  when  they  hadn't  orter.  He  was  still  in 
a  saddened  and  rebellious  mood,  when  he  returned 
to  the  porch,  where  he  found  his  granddaughters 
seated  at  some  sewing.  His  face  lightened  a  little 
at  sight  of  them. 

"Guess  I  got  my  ban's  full  'nough  o'  women- 
folks, anyhow,"  he  muttered.  'Tine  gals  they  be, 
too!"  He  regarded  them  attentively,  with  a  new 
pride  of  possession.  "I  'low  I  hain't  a-kickin'  much 
of  any.  I  reckon  like  'nough  I  be  settled  down 
right  now,  only  I  didn't  know  'nough  to  know  it.'* 
He  chuckled  over  this  conceit,  as  he  seated  him- 
self, and  became  uncommonly  sociable,  somewhat 
to  the  distress  of  Plutina,  who  found  it  difficult  to 
conceal  her  anxiety. 

Dusk  was  falling  when  the  horseman  reappeared. 
This  time  there  was  no  hesitation,  as  he  turned  from 
the  road  into  the  clearing.  Uncle  Dick  rose,  and 
shouted  greeting,  with  labored  facetiousness. 

"Wall,  Mister  Jones,  I  'lowed  as  how  ye  mout 
be  the  tax-collector,  arter  the  widder's  mite,  seein' 


148       HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

how  long  ye  was  a-hangin'  on  up  thar.  Me  an'  the 
gals'd  feel  a  right-smart  consarn  to  lose  Fanny 
Brown  fer  a  neighbor,  if  she  was  pushed  too  hard 
fer  her  debts." 

"Mister  Siddon,  suh/'  the  stranger  answered 
promptly.  "I  opine  you-all  hain't  half-bad  at  a  guess. 
I  be  a  tax-collector,  so  to  speak,  a  debt-collector. 
Hit's  a  debt  contracted  fifty-year  agone.  Fanny 
Brown  done  tole  me  as  how  you-all  been  good 
neighbors  o'  her'n,  so  I  don't  mind  tellin'  ye  she's 
willin'  fer  me  to  collect  thet-thar  debt  o'  mine." 
There  was  an  expression  of  vast  complacency  on  the 
veteran's  face,  as  he  stroked  the  tuft  of  whisker  on 
his  chin,  and  he  smiled  on  his  three  auditors  half- 
triumphantly,  half -shamefacedly.  *T  got  cheated 
o'  her  oncet  by  being  too  slow.  I  hain't  goin'  to 
do  no  sech  foolishness  ag'in.  T'-morrer,  if  the 
clerk's  office  is  open,  I'll  git  the  satisfaction  piece 
an'  Preacher  Roberts'll  tie  the  knot  good  and  proper 
— amen !" 

Uncle  Dick  sighed  audibly  at  the  announcement, 
but  his  chagrin  was  given  no  further  expression 
as  he  invited  the  victorious  rival  to  dismount  and 
partake  of  his  hospitality.  Alvira  received  the  news 
with  bubbling  delight,  which  showed  gaily  in  her 
sparkling  black  eyes  and  dimpling  cheeks.  Even 
Plutina  was  heartened  by  the  discovery  that  her 
grandfather's  folly,  as  she  deemed  it,  must  end, 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE       149 

though  there  could  be  no  gladness  in  her  by  reason 
of  the  fear. 

It  was  after  the  supper  was  done,  when  the  visi- 
tor's horse  stood  at  the  door,  that  Uncle  Dick  took 
a  sudden  resolve. 

*'Alviry,"  he  ordered,  "you-all  come  hold  this- 
hyar  hoss,  a  leetle  minute,  whilst  me  an'  'im  has  a 
confab." 

He  led  the  puzzled  veteran  to  a  bench  beneath  a 
locust,  out  of  earshot  of  his  granddaughters,  who  re- 
garded the  proceeding  curiously,  and  not  without 
apprehension  since  they  knew  the  violent  temper  of 
the  old  man  when  thwarted.  They  were  relieved  to 
perceive  that  his  demeanor  remained  altogether 
peaceable. 

''Hit's  jest  this-away,  Seth  Jones,"  Uncle  Dick 
began  at  once,  after  the  two  were  seated  side  by 
side  on  the  bench.  "Ye  see,  I  knew  you-all,  an'  yer 
name  an'  yer  business,  soon's  I  sot  eyes  on  ye.  Hit 
were  thet-thar  danglin'  sleeve  o'  your'n  as  ye  rid  up 
the  path  what  done  hit.  I  knowed  then  as  how  my 
fate  was  sealed,  s'  fur's  the  Widder  Brown's  con- 
sarned.  Fanny  done  told  me  about  you-all  an'  yer 
disapp'intment.  She  allers  said,  arter  her  man  died, 
as  how  ye'd  be  a-comin'  'long,  though  I  was  hopin* 
ye  wouldn't — cuss  ye!  Excuse  me — no  offense  in- 
tended. The  widder  an'  me  has  been  clost  friends, 
an'  I  told  her  from  the  first  as  how  I  respected  the 


,150      HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

claims  of  this-hyar  Jones  galoot,  if  so  be  he  turned 
up  afore  we  got  hitched.  An'  now  hyar  ye  be — 
dang  hit!" 

The  veteran  cleared  his  throat  apologetically.  His 
own  happiness  made  him  exaggerate  the  injury  thus 
wrought  by  his  reappearance.  He  ventured  no  re- 
mark, however.  He  could  not  say  that  the  woman 
in  the  case  was  hardly  worth  troubling  over,  and, 
for  the  life  of  him,  he  could  think  of  nothing  else 
in  the  way  of  consolation.  He  discreetly  cleared 
his  throat  a  second  time,  and  maintained  a  mas- 
terly silence.  But  the  garrulous  old  man  at  his 
side  needed  no  encouragement.  He  quickly  re- 
sumed his  discourse,  with  a  certain  unctuous  en- 
joyment, distinctly  inconsistent  with  his  love-lorn 
pose. 

''Seth  Jones,"  he  announced  solemnly,  "if  you- 
all  an'  me  was  young  ag'in,  an'  fired  by  the  passion 
o'  youth,  thar  wouldn't  be  no  love-feast  hyar  jest 
now  like  this  un.  No,  sirree!  Hit'd  shore  be  war 
a-twixt  we-uns — w^ith  hell  a-poppin'  at  the  end  on't 
fer  one,  mebby  both.  But  my  blood  don't  git  het 
up  now  the  way  hit  use'  to  did.  I'm  thinkin'  fer 
the  widder's  sake  hit's  good  ye're  younger  ner  me, 
an'  got  more  years  to  give  'er.  So,  Mr.  Jones, 
when  all's  said  an'  done,  I'm  glad  ye  come  to  Guard- 
ing Creek." 

Then,  Uncle  Dick,  in  his  turn,  displayed  some 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE       151 

slight  symptoms  of  embarrassment,  and  cleared  his 
throat  in  a  manner  to  shock  a  drawing-room. 

"An'  now  I  got  jest  one  leetle  favor  to  ax  o'  ye, 
Seth  Jones.  You-all  knows  as  how  the  gals  in  this- 
hyar  kentry  air  particular  proud  to  have  a  weddin' 
ring  made  from  the  gold  washed  out  o'  the  soil  in 
Pleasant  Valley  by  their  swxetheart.  Wall,  I  talked 
a  heap  'bout  hit  to  Fanny,  an',  when  she  showed 
signs  like  she'd  give  in  to  me,  I  went  an'  panned  the 
gold  fer  the  ring.  Fanny'd  be  right-smart  dis- 
app'inted  not  to  have  a  lover-made  ring,  I  reckon. 
So,  bein'  as  you-all  only  got  one  arm,  I  wants  ye 
to  take  this-hyar  ring,  an'  wed  her  proper  with  the 
blessin'  an'  best  wishes  o'  Uncle  Dick  Siddon." 

He  offered  the  ring,  which  was  gratefully  ac- 
cepted, and  the  two  old  men  parted  on  excellent 
terms. 

At  eleven  o'clock  the  next  morning.  Uncle  Dick 
was  sitting  on  the  porch,  when  he  saw  a  horse  pass- 
ing over  the  trail  toward  the  south.  In  the  saddle 
was  the  erect,  spruce  figure  of  the  one-armed  vet- 
eran, Seth  Jones.  And,  on  a  blanket  strapped  be- 
hind the  saddle  to  serve  as  pillion,  rode  a  woman, 
with  her  arms  clasped  around  the  man's  waist.  It 
was  the  Widow  Brown,  dressed  all  in  gala  white. 

It  was,  indeed,  heigh-ho  for  the  parson ! 

Uncle  Dick  stared  fixedly  until  the  two  had  van- 


152       HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

ished  beyond  the  brow  of  the  hill.  Then,  at  last, 
he  stirred,  and  his  eyes  roved  over  his  home  and  its 
surroundings  wistfully.  He  sighed  heavily.  But 
he  himself  would  have  been  hard  put  to  it  to  tell 
whether  that  sigh  held  more  of  regret,  or  of  relief. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

WHILE  her  grandfather  was  still  on  the 
porch,  and  her  sister  was  out  of  the 
house,  Plutina  possessed  herself  of  the 
new  revolver,  with  its  holster,  which,  after  slipping 
down  her  gown  from  the  shoulder,  she  attached 
under  the  left  arm-pit.  The  looseness  of  the  ill- 
fitting  garment  concealed  the  weapon  effectually 
enough.  For  ready  access,  the  upper  buttons  to  the 
throat  were  left  unfastened,  in  seeming  relief 
against  the  heat  of  midday.  Thus  equipped,  the 
girl  stole  out  through  the  back  way,  unobserved  by 
her  relations,  to  keep  tryst  with  the  desperado. 

As  she  followed  a  blind  trail  that  shortened  the 
distance  between  the  Siddon  cabin  and  the  Hollo- 
man  Gate  to  a  short  two  miles,  Plutina  was  tortur- 
ing a  brain  already  overtaxed  in  the  effort  to  devise 
some  means  whereby  she  might  wreck  the  projects 
of  the  villain,  without  at  the  same  time  bringing 
ruin  on  herself,  or  those  she  loved.  Always,  how- 
ever, her  thoughts  went  spinning  toward  the  same 
vortex  of  destruction.  She  could,  indeed,  contrive 
nothing  better  than  the  policy  of  cajolery  on  which 

153 


154       HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

she  had  first  determined,  and  to  this  course,  as  it 
seemed  to  her,  she  must  cHng,  though  her  good 
sense  was  well  advised  of  its  futility.  She  knew 
that  a  scoundrel  of  Hodges  unrestrained  passions 
could  not  long  be  held  from  his  infamous  purposes 
by  any  art  of  hers.  At  the  best,  she  might  hope 
perhaps  to  delay  the  catastrophe  only  by  hours.  In 
her  discouraged  state,  she  admitted  that  it  would 
be  quite  impossible  to  restrain  him  until  the  law 
should  come  to  her  aid.  She  was  determined  none 
the  less  to  employ  every  resource  at  her  command, 
in  order  to  postpone  decisive  action.  One  thing 
was  at  once  her  chief  reliance  and  her  chief  source 
of  fear :  the  outlaw's  passion  for  her.  In  his  brutal 
fashion,  the  man  loved  her.  That  fact  gave  her 
power  over  him,  even  while  it  exposed  her  to  the 
worst  peril  at  his  hands. 

The  presence  of  the  revolver  comforted  her 
mightily.  From  time  to  time,  she  moved  her  right 
hand  stealthily  across  her  bosom,  to  reassure  a  fail- 
ing courage  by  feeling  the  stiff  leather  of  the  holster 
under  the  gown.  She  was  experienced  in  the  use  of 
weapons.  Her  rifle  had  often  contributed  to  the 
cabin  larder.  Muscles  that  knew  no  tremor  and  a 
just  eye  had  given  her  a  skill  in  marksmanship 
much  beyond  the  average,  even  in  this  region  where 
firearms  were  forever  in  the  hands  of  the  men, 
and  familiar  to  the  women.     Once,  her  moving  fin- 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE       155 

gers  felt  the  little  bag  hanging  from  its  leathern 
thong  about  her  neck,  in  which  was  the  fairy  crys- 
tal. The  hardness  of  her  expression  vanished  on 
the  instant,  and  in  its  stead  was  a  wonderful  ten- 
derness. A  world  of  yearning  shone  in  the  dark 
lustres  of  the  eyes,  and  the  curving  lips  drooped  in 
pathetic  wistfulness.  Her  soul  went  out  toward  the 
distant  lover  in  a  very  frenzy  of  desire.  She  felt 
the  longing  well  in  her,  a  craving  so  agonized  that 
nothing  else  mattered,  neither  life  nor  death.  Had 
the  power  been  hers  then,  she  would  have  sum- 
moned him  across  the  void.  The  loneliness  was  a 
visible,  tangible  monster,  beating  in  upon  her, 
crushing  her  with  hideous,  remorseless  strength. 
Her  man  must  come  back ! 

It  was  the  mood  of  a  moment,  no  more.  Even  as 
she  thrilled  with  the  anguished  longing  she  lifted 
her  eyes,  and  halted,  aghast  at  the  scene  before 
her.  There,  close  at  hand  to  the  southeast.  Stone 
Mountain  upreared  its  huge  and  rugged  bulk.  It 
loomed  implacable,  with  the  naked  cliffs  staring 
grotesquely.  It  overhung  her  like  immutable  fate, 
silent,  pitiless.  There  was  sinister  significance  in 
its  aspect,  for  just  before  her  lay  the  cavernous 
shadows  of  the  Devil's  Cauldron.  The  girl's  gaze 
went  to  the  verge  of  the  precipice  far  above.  It 
followed  down  the  wild  tumblings  of  the  little 
stream,   fed  from  lofty  springs.     It  descended  in 


156       HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE     , 

the  last  long  leap  of  the  waters  into  the  churning 
pool.  And  she  had  a  vision  of  the  man  she  loved, 
bound,  and  helpless — dead  perhaps,  shot  from  be- 
hind— and  now  thrust  out  from  the  verge  into  the 
abyss,  to  go  hurtling  into  the  mist-wreathed 
depths.  .  .  .  No,  Zeke  must  not  come  back. 
The  hardness  crept  again  into  her  face,  as  she  went 
forward.  She  held  her  eyes  averted  from  that 
gruesome  cavern  high  in  the  mountain's  face. 

The  girl  came  soon  to  the  HoUoman  Gate,  which 
swung  across  the  trail  near  the  west  end  of  the 
mountain.  Tall  poplars  and  spruce  made  an  ample 
shade,  but  a  glance  toward  the  sun  showed  it  at  the 
zenith.  She  was  prompt  to  the  rendezvous;  it  was 
the  lover  who  was  laggard.  She  wondered  a  little 
at  that,  but  with  no  lightening  of  her  mood.  She 
was  sure  that  he  would  come  all  too  speedily.  She 
stood  waiting  in  misery,  leaning  listlessly  against 
the  fence,  her  gaze  downcast.  The  geranium  blos- 
^soms  touched  the  sward  richly  with  color;  the 
rhododendrons  flaunted  the  loveliness  of  their 
flowering  round  about  the  spot.  A  delicate  medley 
of  birds'  songs  throbbed  from  out  the  thickets;  a 
tiny  stream  purled  over  its  pebbled  bed  in  the  ravine 
that  entrenched  the  trail.  Plutina  gave  no  heed. 
She  saw  and  she  heard,  but,  in  this  hour,  she  was 
without  response  to  any  charm  of  sight  or  of  sound. 
Yet,  that  she  was  alert  was  proven  presently,   for 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE       157 

her  ear  caught  the  faint  crackle  of  a  twig  snapping. 
It  was  a  little  way  off — somewhere  along  the  line 
of  the  brush-grown  fence,  on  the  same  side  of  the 
trail.  She  peered  steadily  in  the  direction  of  the 
noise.  When  her  eyes  became  accustomed  to  the 
shadows,  she  made  out  the  figure  of  a  man, 
crouched  in  a  corner  of  the  fence,  behind  the  screen 
of  a  bush.  He  was  no  more  than  three  or  four 
rods  from  her.  She  was  sure  even  that  she  recog- 
nized him — Gary  Hawks,  one  of  the  most  vicious 
of  the  Hodges  gang,  but  notorious  for  cowardice. 
She  was  puzzled  for  only  a  moment  by  the  pres- 
ence of  the  fellow.  Then,  she  realized  that  he 
doubtless  was  acting  under  his  leader's  orders.  It 
was  another  menace  against  her  own  safety.  The 
fingers  of  her  hand  went  once  again  for  encourage- 
ment to  the  holster  beneath  her  arm. 

Plutina  gave  no  sign  that  she  had  discovered  the 
lurking  man's  presence.  But,  after  a  minute,  she 
retraced  her  steps  a  little  way  along  the  trail,  until 
she  came  to  a  point  where  there  was  a  clear  space 
on  either  side,  which  was  out  of  hearing  from  the 
fence  line.  She  had  scarcely  reached  the  place, 
when  Hodges  appeared,  his  bare  feet  trudging 
sw^iftly.  His  head,  too,  was  bare.  In  the  hollow  of 
his  left  arm  lay  the  long  rifle.  He  was  approach- 
ing from  the  east,  and  halted  at  the  gate,  without 
having  observed  the  girl  beyond  it.  He  whistled  a' 


158       HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

soft  note  as  a  signal  if  she  should  be  anywhere 
about. 

Plutina  called  out  softly  in  answer. 

"Hyar,  Dan!"  As  he  looked  toward  her,  she 
beckoned  him  to  approach. 

Hodges  shook  his  head  in  dissent,  and,  by  a  ges- 
ture, bade  her  come  to  him.  But,  when  she  showed 
no  sign  of  obeying,  he  moved  forward,  scowling, 
ferociously.  The  girl  seemed  undaunted.  She 
spoke  curtly  in  rebuke : 

''  'Pears  to  me,  Dan  Hodges,  like  ye  hain't  very 
prompt,  seein'  as  how  I've  been  a-waiting  hyar  a 
quarter-hour  fer  ye.  When  a  man  loves  a  gal,  he 
gen' rally  gits  to  the  place  sot  ahead  o'  her.  Ye 
hain't  a-startin'  right  to  win  me,  Dan,  an'  so  I'm 
a-telHn'  ye  fair." 

"You-all  orter  have  more  sense  than  hang  out 
hyar  in  the  sun.  Come  back  to  the  gate,  under  the 
shade  o'  the  sarvis  bushes."  He  turned  away,  but 
paused  as  the  girl  made  no  movement  to  follow. 
'What  in  hell's  the  matter  on  ye?"  he  demanded, 
angrily.  This  place  in  the  rud  hain't  fitten  fer 
talk,  nohow." 

''Hit's  fitten  'nough  fer  me,"  Plutina  retorted, 
quietly.  A  mellow  laugh  sounded.  "Seems  to  me 
this-hyar  bright  sunshine  orter  warm  yer  love  up 
some,  Dan.    We'll  stay  hyar,  I  reckon.    I'm  afeared 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE       159 

o'  snakes  an'  eavesdroppers  an'  sech  critters  thar 
in  the  shade." 

The  man  was  racked  by  many  emotions.  He  had 
come  swiftly  under  the  hot  sun,  and  the  haste  and 
the  heat  had  irritated  him.  The  sight  of  the  girl 
moved  him  to  fierce  passion  of  desire.  He  was 
aflame  with  eagerness  to  take  her  within  his  arms, 
there  where  were  the  cool  shadows.  Her  indiffer- 
ence to  his  command  exasperated  him ;  her  final 
refusal  infuriated  him.  In  the  rush  of  feeling  he 
lost  what  little  judgment  he  might  otherwise  have 
had.  He  had  meant  to  placate  her  by  a  temporary 
gentleness,  to  be  offset  by  future  brutalities.  Now, 
in  his  rage,  he  forgot  discretion  under  the  pricking 
of  lawless  impulse.  He  reached  out  and  dropped  a 
huge  hand  on  Plutina's  shoulder,  and  twisted  her 
about  with  a  strength  she  was  powerless  to  resist. 
The  clutch  of  his  fingers  cut  cruelly  into  her  flesh, 
firm  though  it  was,  and  she  winced.  He  grinned 
malevolently. 

"Git  back  thar  as  I  done  tol'  ye,"  he  rasped; 
*'afore  ye  git  wuss." 

With  a  deft  twist  of  the  body,  Plutina  stood  free. 
The  face,  which  had  paled,  flushed  darkly.  The  eyes 
blazed.  The  head  was  uplifted  in  scorn.  Her  as- 
pect awed  the  man,  and  he  hesitated,  gaping  at  her. 
Yet  her  voice  was  very  soft  when  she  spoke.     The 


.i6o       HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

tone  surprised  her  listener,  rendered  him  strangely 
uneasy,  for  some  reason  he  could  not  understand. 

"Thet  ten  minutes  ye  was  late  was  more'n  I  had 
need  fer,  Dan  Hodges,"  she  said.  'T  promised  ye 
yer  answer  hyar,  an'  I'm  a-goin'  to  give  hit  to  ye 
right  now." 

She  lifted  an  arm,  and  pointed  to  where  the 
Devil's  Cauldron  blotched  the  cliffs  of  the  moun- 
tainside   ...    It  was  her  left  arm  that  she  lifted. 

''Look,  Dan!  See  thet-thar  big  hole  in  the  wall. 
I  been  a-lookin'  at  hit,  Dan.  I  'low  you-all  don't 
dast  look  at  hit.  Mebby  ye're  afeared  o'  seein'  the 
bones  o'  them  hit  holds — bones  o'  dead  men — what 
you-all  an'  yer  gang  hev  kilt  an'  slid  into  the  pot, 
to  lie  hid  till  Jedgment.  Hit's  thar  ye're  aimin 
to  put  my  Zeke.  Why,  a  haar  o'  his  head's  wuth 
more'n  the  hull  caboodle  of  sech  murderers  as  yew 
be." 

She  stepped  closer  to  the  outlaw,  and  spoke  with 
unleashed  hate.  He  flinched  at  the  change. 

"I  was  skeered  o'  ye  back  thar  on  the  piazzy  yist'- 
day,  an'  I  lied  to  ye,  kase  I  was  skeered.  I  wasn't 
a-likin'  the  look  in  them  pig  eyes  o'  your'n.  An'  I 
was  a- feared  o'  Gran'pap's  hearin'  how  I  reported  the 
still.  Wall,  now  I  hain't  skeered  no  more.  I  prom- 
ised ye  yer  answer  at  the  gate.  We'll  move  over 
thar,  an'  I'll  keep  my  promise." 

Before   he  could  guess   her  purpose,   before   he 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE       i6i 

could  shift  the  rifle  from  the  hollow  of  his  arm,  the 
fingers  of  Plutina's  right  hand  had  slipped  within 
the  open  bodice.  The  Colt's  flashed  in  the  sun- 
light. The  level  barrel  lay  motionless,  in  deadly 
readiness.  For  the  girl,  though  not  yet  quite  sure, 
was  almost  sure  that  she  would  kill  Dan  Hodges. 

The  idea  had  not  come  to  her  until  this  meeting. 
In  all  the  racking  hours  of  thought,  this  simple  solu- 
tion of  the  difficulty  had  never  entered  her  mind. 
Now,  at  its  coming,  she  welcomed  it  with  infinite 
relief.  It  offered  a  means  of  escape  so  simple  and 
so  sure — escape  for  herself  and  for  those  she  loved. 
It  was  the  touch  of  the  man  that  had  wrought  the 
miracle  of  revolt.  She  had  felt  herself  polluted  by 
the  contact.  On  the  instant,  the  hypocrisy  of  cajol- 
ing was  no  longer  possible.  But  there  was  more  in 
the  efifect  than  that.  The  savagery  of  the  outlaw 
aroused  the  savagery  in  her.  She  became,  in  the 
twinkling  of  an  eye,  the  primitive  woman.  There 
was  little  in  the  sentiment  of  her  people  to  dam  the 
outburst.  Her  kin  had  followed  the  lex  talionis. 
They  had  killed  their  fellows  for  the  sake  of  their 
proper  pride.  The  blood-feud  was  familiar  to  her, 
and  she  knew  no  shame  in  it.  Why  should  she  not 
slay  this  creature  who  outraged  her  self-respect, 
who  theatened  her  every  hope?  Her  finger  on  the 
trigger  of  the  revolver  tensed  ever  so  slightly. 

The  man  felt  the  vibration  of  her  impulse  and 


i62       HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

cringed.  He  was  in  a  daze  before  this  violence  of 
attack,  where  he  had  expected  only  supine  yield- 
ing. In  his  creed,  the  beating  of  women  marked 
manliness.  The  drabs  he  had  caressed  crept  and 
fawned  under  his  blows,  like  whipped  curs.  He 
could  not  realize  this  challenge  by  the  girl  with  his 
own  method  of  might.  But  he  saw  clearly  enough 
through  the  haze  of  fear  that  the  blue  barrel  was 
trained  exactly  upon  him,  that  the  slim  hand  held 
it  rigid,  and  he  knew  that,  in  this  instant,  he  was 
very,  very  close  to  death.  The  red  of  his  face 
changed  to  a  mottled  purple.  He  felt  himself 
trembling. 

Plutina  perceived  the  abject  terror  of  the  man. 
It  mitigated  her  wrath  with  scorn,  and  so  saved 
him  for  the  moment.  She  cried  out  to  him  fiercely, 
her  voice  rough  with  abhorrence. 

"To  the  gate  fer  yer  answer,  ye  cowardly  houn'. 
Move  quick,  er  I'll  drap  ye  in  yer  tracks,  ye  mur- 
derin'  wolf.     Do  as  I  say!" 

She  moved  another  step  toward  him.  Her  voice 
rose  shrill : 

"Drap  thet  rifle-gun !" 

The  weapon  slipped  from  Hodges'  nerveless  fin- 
gers, and  fell  on  the  turf  with  a  soft  thud. 

"Put  up  yer  ban's !" 

Cowed,  the  man  thrust  his  long  arms  to  their 
length  above  his  head. 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE       163 

"Now,  turn  round,  an'  march  to  the  gate!" 

There  was  no  faltering  in  the  obedience. 

The  hulking  bully  knew  that  he  was  in  mortal 
peril.  For  his  life's  sake,  he  dared  neither  word 
nor  gesture  of  resistance  to  the  girl's  will.  His 
only  hope  was  that  the  hidden  ally  might  somehow 
come  to  his  aid.  But  the  hope  was  feeble.  He 
knew  the  other's  craven  spirit. 

Plutina,  too,  knew  it.  As  she  drove  her  captive 
to  the  gate,  she  peered,  and  saw  the  crouching  figure 
still  in  the  shadows  behind  the  bush.  The  Colt's 
cracked.  Even  as  Hodges  shuddered,  imagining 
the  tearing  of  the  bullet  through  his  own  flesh,  there 
came  a  shriek  of  pain  from  beyond  him.  The  hid- 
den man  leaped  forth,  his  right  arm  dangling 
clumsily.  He  scrambled  into  the  cover  of  the 
spruces  and  vanished.  The  noises  of  his  flight  les- 
sened, died. 

'T've  scotched  a  snake,"  Plutina  said,  malignant- 
ly. "Hit's  about  time  to  kill  the  dawg,  I  reckon. 
Turn  round."  Then,  w^hen  he  had  obeyed,  she 
went  on  speaking.  "Now,  hyar  at  the  gate,  I'll 
tell  ye  somethin'.  You-all  'lowed  ye  could  git  me 
with  money.  If  ye  had  all  they  is  in  the  world,  hit 
wouldn't  be  enough.  An'  ye  thought  I  tuk  money 
fer  reportin'  the  still.  Wall,  I  didn't.  I  reported 
thet-thar   still  o'   your'n   kase   I   seed   ye   a-settin* 


i64       HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

b'ar-traps  fer  humans,  an'  hit  made  me  hate  ye 
even  wuss  'n  I  done  hated  ye  afore." 

Somehow,  the  flame  of  her  fury  was  dying.  The 
girl  felt  this,  and  bitterly  resented  it,  yet  she  was 
powerless.  It  seemed  to  her  that  with  all  the 
strength  of  her  nature  she  was  desirous  of  killing 
this  enemy.  He  stood  cowering  before  her  in 
dread.  Her  finger  on  the  trigger  needed  only  the 
slightest  flexing  to  speed  the  death  he  merited.  And, 
for  some  occult  reason,  the  w^ill  to  slay  failed  her. 
She  was  enraged  against  her  own  weakness  of  re- 
solve. Nevertheless,  she  was  lielpless.  Her  mood 
had  reached  its  climax  in  the  impulsive  wounding  of 
the  other  man.  Now,  her  blood  was  losing  its 
fever.  With  the  slowing  pulse,  the  softer  instincts 
prevailed  to  thwart  her  purpose.  Despite  an 
anguished  eagerness,  she  could  not  kill  this  tremb- 
ling wretch.  She  loathed  her  frailty,  even  as  she 
yielded  to  it.  She  must  let  him  go  unscathed,  a  foe 
the  more  dangerous  after  this  humiliation.  Of  no 
use  to  threaten  him,  to  extort  promises.  There  was 
no  truth  in  him.  He  must  be  left  free  to  work  what 
evil  he  would.  Oh,  if  only  the  wrath  in  her  had  not 
died  too  soon ! 

*'Put  yer  ban's  down,  an'  march  up  the  trail," 
she  commanded,  presently.  Her  voice  was  lifeless. 
The  man  drew  new  hope  from  the  quality  of  it. 
He  ventured   no   resistance  to   the  command,   but 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE       165 

went  padding  softly  through  the  dust.  Behind  him, 
Plutina  followed,  her  bare  feet  padding  an  echo. 
Her  right  hand  hung  at  her  side,  but  it  retained  the 
revolver,  ready  for  instant  use.  As  she  came  to 
Hodges'  rifle,  she  picked  it  up,  and  threw  it  far 
down  into  the  ravine.  At  the  clattering  noise  of 
its  fall,  the  outlaw  started,  but  he  did  not  pause  in 
his  stride,  or  turn.  The  girl's  whole  soul  was  con- 
vulsed with  longing  that  he  should  make  some  ef- 
fort of  revolt — anything.  Then,  she  would  shoot 
and  kill — oh,  so  gladly!" 

But  the  instinct  to  live  guided  the  man.  He 
trudged  meekly.  There  was  no  excuse  against 
him.  So,  they  came  at  last  near  to  the  Siddon  clear- 
ing, where  a  little  path  ran  through  the  wood  to- 
ward the  house.  Here,  Plutina  paused,  without  a 
word.  She  was  ashamed  of  herself,  grievously 
ashamed  of  this  softness  of  fiber  that  had  spared  a 
life.  Without  a  word,  she  watched  him  pass  along 
the  trail,  up  the  slope,  and  out  of  sight  beyond.  Her 
face  was  drawn  and  white,  and  the  great  eyes  were 
brooding  with  bitterness,  when,  finally,  she  stirred, 
and  moved  forward  in  the  path.  She  slipped  the 
revolver  into  its  holster.  Then,  her  fingers  went  to 
the  bag  that  held  the  fairy  cross  to  her  breast.  She 
fondled  it  tenderly.  She  was  longing  as  never  be- 
fore for  the  giver  of  the  talisman. 


CHAPTER  XV 

PLUTINA  had  no  sleep  the  night  following  her 
encounter  with  Dan  Hodges.  Throughout 
the  dragging  hours,  she  was  tortured  by 
sinister  imaginings.  She  exhausted  her  brain  in 
futile  strivings  for  some  means  of  escape  from  the 
mesh  of  circumstance.  It  was  not  until  the  gray 
twilight  of  dawn  shone  through  the  curtains  that  a 
possibility  of  relief  stirred  in  her  mind.  It  was  out 
of  desperation  that  the  idea  sprang.  She  felt  her- 
self so  utterly  forlorn  and  helpless  in  her  loneliness 
that  the  despair  was  overpowering.  It  w^as  then, 
at  last,  that  the  inspiration  came  to  her:  She 
would  confess  everything  to  her  grandfather! 

Though  she  quailed  before  the  prospect,  she  re- 
joiced as  well.  The  old  man  was  strong  and  re- 
sourceful. He  would  know  how  to  meet  and  over- 
come the  outlaw's  villainy.  Moreover,  now  that  her 
decision  had  been  made,  Plutina  w^as  surprised  to 
find  her  alarm  over  such  confession  greatly  lessened 
from  what  she  had  supposed  possible.  She  began  to 
realize  that  some  intangible  change  in  her  grand- 
father himself  was  responsible  for  this.     She  be- 

166 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE       167 

came  convinced  that  the  new  gentleness  had  had 
its  origin  in  the  unselfish  abandonment  of  his  mari- 
tal hopes.  It  was  as  if  that  renunciation  had  vitally 
softened  him.  Perhaps,  in  this  strange  mood,  he 
would  be  less  intolerant  of  her  fault  in  turning  in- 
former. His  prejudice  could  find  no  excuse  for  her 
treachery,  she  knew,  yet  the  peril  in  which  she  had 
involved  herself,  and  him,  might  arouse  his  pity. 
Assuredly,  he  would  be  moved  to  instant  action  for 
both  their  sakes.  For  that  reason  alone,  if  for  no 
other,  she  must  tell  him  her  story  without  a  moment 
of  unnecessary  delay. 

In  the  course  of  the  morning,  Plutina  took  ad- 
vantage of  an  opportunity,  whilst  her  sister  was 
busy  in  the  garden,  and  went  to  her  grandfather, 
who  was  taking  his  ease  on  the  porch.  She  was 
encouraged  by  the  mild  and  benignant  expression 
on  the  old  man's  face,  which  had  been  more  often 
fierce,  as  she  remembered  it  through  the  years.  She 
seated  herself  quietly,  and  then  proceeded  immedi- 
ately to  confession.  There  was  no  attempt  at  pallia- 
tion of  her  offense,  if  offense  it  were.  She  gave  the 
narrative  of  events  starkly,  from  the  moment  when 
she  had  first  seen  Hodges  descending  Luffman's 
Branch  to  the  time  of  her  separation  from  him  at 
the  clearing,  on  the  yesterday. 

Throughout  the  account,  the  listener  sat  sprawled 
in  the  big  willow  rocker,  his  slippered  feet  resting 


i68       HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

on  the  porch  rail.  The  huge  body  was  crumpled  in- 
to an  awkward  posture,  which  was  never  changed, 
once  the  history  was  begun.  The  curved  wooden 
pipe  hung  from  his  lips,  black  against  the  iron  gray 
cascade  of  beard,  but  he  did  not  draw  at  it  again, 
after  the  opening  sentences  from  his  granddaugh- 
ter's lips.  Plutina,  looking  down,  perceived  that 
the  folded  hands,  lying  in  his  lap,  were  clenched  so 
strongly  that  the  knuckles  showed  bloodless.  Yet, 
he  made  no  movement,  nor  offered  any  word  of 
comment  or  of  question.  When  the  girl  had  made 
an  end,  and  sat  waiting  distressedly  for  his  verdict, 
he  still  rested  mute,  until  the  silence  became  more 
than  she  could  endure,  and  she  cried  out  in  plead- 
ing: 

"Kain't  ye  fergive  me,  Gran'pap?" 

Uncle  Dick  turned,  and  looked  reproachfully  at 
the  distraught  girl.  A  great  tenderness  shone  from 
the  black  eyes,  in  which  age  had  not  dimmed  the 
brilHance.  As  she  saw  the  emotion  there,  a  gasp 
of  rapturous  relief  broke  from  Plutina's  lips.  The 
stern  restraints  of  her  training  were  broken  down  in 
that  moment.  She  dropped  to  her  knees  by  the  old 
man's  side,  and  seized  his  hands,  and  kissed  them, 
and  pressed  them  to  her  bosom.  He  released  one 
of  them  presently,  and  laid  it  gently  on  the  dusk 
masses  of  his  s^randchild's  hair  in  silent  blessing. 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE       169 

His  voice,  when  at  last  he  spoke,  was  softer  than  she 
had  heard  it  ever  before. 

''Why,  Tiny,  ye  mustn't  be  afeared  o'  yer  ole 
gran'pap.  I  thinks  a  heap  o'  my  kin,  an'  ye're  the 
clusest.  I  loves  ye  gal — more'n  anythin'  er  anybody 
else  in  the  world,  though  I  wouldn't  want  Alviry  to 
hear  thet.  I  hain't  mindin'  what  ye  done  none.  I'd 
Stan'  by  ye.  Tiny,  if  he  had  the  hull  cussed  Gov'- 
ment  at  yer  back.  I  hain't  got  no  likin'  fer  reven- 
uers,  but  I  got  a  heap  less  for  Dan  Hodges." 

He  paused  for  a  moment  and  lifted  his  hand 
from  the  girl's  head  to  stroke  the  gray  beard 
thoughtfully,  before  he  continued: 

*T  been  thinkin'  a  right-smart  lot  o'  things  jest 
lately.  I  'low  I'm  a-gittin'  old,  mebby.  An'  I  opine 
as  'tween  the  revenuers  and  Dan  Hodges,  I  hain't 
so  much  agin  the  Gov'ment  as  I  was." 

Again,  he  fell  silent,  as  if  in  embarrassment  over 
an  admission  so  at  variance  with  the  tenets  of  a 
lifetime.    Then  he  spoke  with  sudden  briskness : 

"But  ye'd  orter  a-killed  the  critter  then  an'  thar, 
Tiny!" 

"I  jest  somehow  couldn't,  Gran'pap.  I'm  shore 
sorry."  The  girl  felt  poignant  shame  for  the  weak- 
ness thus  rebuked. 

"I  'low  I  hain't  likely  to  have  no  sech  feelin's 
a-holdin'  o'  me  back,"  Uncle  Dick  remarked,  drily. 
''Hit's  my  foolishness  bailin'  'im  out  got  us  in  the 


I/O       HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 


pizen  mess.  I  'low  Fll  cancel  the  bond.  But,  fust, 
r  have  to  take  the  skunk  to  the  jail-house,  dead  er 
alive.     He'll  stan'  some  urgin',  I  reckon." 

*'Ye'll  be  keerful,  Gran'pap,"  Plutina  exclaimed 
anxiously,  as  she  stood  up. 

"Now,  don't  ye  worrit  none,"  Unce  Dick  ordered, 
tartly.  His  usual  rather  dictatorial  manner  in  the 
household  returned  to  him.  ''You-all  run  along.  I 
want  to  think." 

The  girl  went  obediently.  The  reaction  from 
despair  brought  joyousness.  Of  a  sudden,  she  be- 
came aware  of  the  blending  perfumes  of  the  wild 
flowers  and  the  lilting  of  an  amorous  thrush  in  the 
wood.  Her  lids  narrowed  to  dreamy  contempla- 
tion of  the  green-and-gold  traceries  on  the  ground, 
where  the  sunlight  fell  dappled  through  screening 
foliage.  Fear  was  fled  from  her.  Her  thought  flew 
to  Zeke,  in  longing  as  always,  but  now  in  a  longing 
made  happy  with  hopes.  There  might  be  a  letter 
awaiting  her  from  New  York — perhaps  even  with 
a  word  of  promise  for  his  return.  She  smiled,  radi- 
ant with  fond  anticipations.  Then,  after  a  word 
of  explanation  to  Alvira,  she  set  off  at  a  brisk  pace 
over  the  trail  toward  Cherry  Lane. 

The  girl  went  blithely  on  her  way,  day-dreaming 
of  the  time  when  Zeke  should  be  come  home  to  her 
again.  She  stopped  at  the  Widow  Higgins'  cabin, 
to   receive   felicitations  over  the  escape  of  Uncle 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE       171 

Dick  from  Fanny  Brown.  Plutina  was  not  minded 
to  harass  the  older  woman  with  the  tale  of  Dan 
Hodges.  The  outlaw's  threats  against  Zeke  would 
only  fill  the  mother's  heart  with  fears,  against  which 
she  could  make  no  defense.  Otherwise,  however, 
the  tongues  of  the  two  ran  busily  concerning  the 
absent  one.  And  then,  soon,  Plutina  was  again 
hurrying  over  the  trail,  which  the  bordering  wild 
flowers  made  dainty  as  a  garden  walk.  Once,  her 
eyes  turned  southward,  to  the  gloomy  grandeur  of 
Stone  Mountain,  looming  vast  and  portentous.  The 
blur  of  shadow  that  marked  the  Devil's  Cauldron 
touched  her  to  an  instant  of  foreboding,  but  the 
elation  of  mood  persisted.  She  raised  her  hand, 
and  the  fingers  caressed  the  bag  in  which  was  the 
fairy  crystal,  and  she  went  gaily  forward,  smiling. 

Uncle  Dick,  meantime,  was  busy  with  sterner 
thoughts,  and  his  task  was  harmonious  to  his  mus- 
ings, for  he  was  cleaning  and  oiling  his  rifle  with 
punctilious  care.  He  did  not  hasten  over-much 
at  either  the  thinking  or  the  work.  The  shades  of 
night  were  drawing  down  when,  finally,  he  hung 
the  immaculate  weapon  on  its  hooks.  He  ate  in 
solitary  silence,  served  by  Alvira,  who  ventured  no 
intrusion  on  this  mood  of  remoteness  with  which 
she  was  familiar  from  experience.  The  old  man 
had  determined  to  go  forth  and  seize,  and  deliver 


172       HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

to  the  custody  of  the  law,  the  person  of  Dan 
Hodges.  At  the  best,  he  would  surprise  the  out- 
law, and  the  achievement  would  be  simple  enough; 
at  the  worst,  there  would  be  a  duel.  Uncle  Dick 
had  no  fear  over  the  outcome.  He  believed  himself 
quicker  and  surer  with  the  rifle  than  this  scoundrel 
of  half  his  years.  At  grips,  of  course  he  would 
have  no  chance.  But  the  affair  would  not  come  to 
grips.  He  would  see  to  that.  He  went  to  bed  con- 
tentedly, and  slept  the  peaceful  sleep  of  wholesome 
age,  undisturbed  by  any  bickerings  of  conscience. 

It  was  while  he  was  dressing,  next  morning,  that 
a  measure  of  prudence  occurred  to  Uncle  Dick. 
During  the  period  of  his  absence,  it  would  be  well 
for  Plutina  to  avoid  risk  by  keeping  in  the  cabin, 
with  her  rifle  at  hand.  There  was  no  telling  how 
audacious  the  moonshiner  might  become  in  his  rage 
over  the  ignominy  to  which  the  girl  had  subjected 
him. 

At  the  breakfast-table,  he  spoke  sharply  to  Alvira, 
as  she  placed  the  plate  of  fried  ham  and  eggs  before 
him. 

'Tell  Tiny,  I'm  a-wantin'  her." 

"Tiny  hain't  hyar  yit,"  was  the  answer.  ''Hit's 
time  she  was." 

"Whar's  she  gone!"  Uncle  Dick  demanded, 
grufily.    He  detested  any  interruption  of  his  plans. 

"Tiny  stayed  over  to  the  Widder  Higgins's  las' 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE       173 

night,"  Alvira  explained.  ''Hit's  time  she  come 
back." 

Uncle  Dick  snorted  with  indignation. 

''She  didn't  say  nothin'  to  me  'bout  stayin'  over 
thar,"  he  said  crossly. 

"Nor  to  me,  nuther,"  Alvira  declared.  "She 
never  does  beforehand.  When  the  Widder  Higgins 
kind  o'  hangs  on.  Tiny  jest  stays,  an'  comes  back  in 
the  mornin'.     She  orter  been  'ere  afore  now." 

Uncle  Dick  pushed  away  the  plate  of  food,  half- 
eaten.  Dread  had  fallen  on  him  suddenly.  He 
tried  to  thrust  it  off,  but  the  weight  was  too  heavy 
for  his  strength  of  will.  Perforce  he  yielded  to 
alarm  for  the  girl's  safety.  A  great  fear  was  upon 
him  lest  it  be  too  late  for  the  warning  he  had  meant 
to  give.  He  growled  a  curse  on  his  own  folly  in 
not  guarding  against  immediate  attack  by  the  out- 
law. It  was  with  small  hope  of  finding  his  appre- 
hensions groundless  that  he  set  forth  at  once,  rifle 
in  hand,  for  the  cabin  of  the  Widow  Higgins.  There, 
his  fears  were  confirmed.  The  old  woman  had 
seen  nothing  of  Plutina,  since  the  short  pause  on 
the  way  to  the  post-office.  Uncle  Dick  groaned 
aloud  over  the  fate  that  might  have  come  on  the 
girl.  He  told  enough  to  give  the  Widow  Higgins 
some  understanding  of  the  situation,  and  bade  her 
go  to  his  own  house,  there  to  remain  and  to  comfort 
Elvira.    For  himself,  he  would  first  search  over  the 


174       HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

Cherry  Lane  trail  for  any  trace  of  his  vanished 
granddaughter,  and  thereafter  raise  the  hue-and-cry 
to  a  general  hunt  through  the  mountains  for  the 
capture  or  killing  of  the  villain,  and  the  recovery 
of  the  girl,  dead  or  alive.  Not  for  an  instant  did  the 
old  man  doubt  that  Hodges  had  done  the  deed. 

Uncle  Dick  had  no  more  than  passed  Luffman's 
Branch  on  his  way  over  the  Cherry  Lane  Trail, 
when  a  joyous  hail  caused  him  to  lift  his  eyes  from 
their  close  scrutiny  of  the  beaten  earth.  Descend- 
ing the  trail,  a  little  way  in  front  of  him,  appeared 
the  slender,  erect  form  of  the  one-armed  veteran. 
The  bridegroom  moved  with  a  jaunty  step,  and  his 
wrinkled  features  radiated  gladness.  But,  as  he 
came  near,  his  face  sobered  at  sight  of  the  other's 
expression.     His  voice  was  solicitous. 

*T  'low  somethin*  air  wrong,"  he  ventured. 

Uncle  Dick  in  his  distress  welcomed  the  note 
of  sympathy.  Somehow,  he  felt  curiously  drawn 
to  this  successful  rival,  and  he  was  sure  that  his 
feeling  was  returned.  Between  the  two  men  there 
was  a  curious  mutual  respect,  as  if  each  relied  on 
the  entire  good  sense  of  one  who  had  loved  Fanny 
Brown.  The  older  man  craved  a  confidant ;  he  was 
avid  for  counsel  and  every  possible  assistance  in 
this  emergency.  He  told  the  facts  as  concisely  as 
possible,  while  Seth  Jones,  wedded  raptures  forgot. 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE       175 

listened  in  growing  sorrow  and  dismay.  At  the 
end,  he  spoke  simply : 

'T'U  take  a  look  'long  with  ye,  Mister  Siddon.  I 
done  a  heap  o'  trackin'  in  my  time,  out  West.  Per- 
haps, I  kin  he'p  ye  some." 

Uncle  Dick  put  out  his  hand,  and  the  two  palms 
met  in  a  warm  clasp,  witness  of  friendship's  pact. 
Forthwith,  they  gave  themselves  to  minute  exami- 
nation of  the  trail  for  any  sign  of  the  missing  girl. 

For  a  time,  their  patient  search  went  unrewarded. 
But,  about  a  half-mile  beyond  Luffman's  Branch, 
they  came  on  an  area  still  affected  by  one  of  the 
small  show^ers  so  frequent  in  the  mountains.  Here, 
the  veteran's  alert  eyes  distinguished  a  footprint 
outlined  in  the  damp  dust. 

*'Yer  gal  was  barefut,  I  reckon,"  he  said.  He 
pointed  to  the  imprint  just  before  where  he  was 
standing. 

*'Yep,"  Uncle  Dick  answered.  There  was  a  little 
mist  over  his  eyes,  as  he  glanced  down.  "Yep;  hit's 
her'n." 

The  veteran  went  forward  confidently  now. 

"She  was  a-steppin'  plumb  brisk,"  he  declared; 
"feelin'  pretty  peart,  I  'low;  feet  kind  o'  springy- 
like." 

Uncle  Dick  shivered  at  the  words.  He  had  a 
ghastly  vision  of  Plutina  moving  at  this  moment 
with  painfully  dragging  steps   somewhere  afar  in 


176       HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

the  fastnesses  of  the  mountains.  But  he  said  nothing 
of  the  worst  fears  to  his  companion.  He  only  fol- 
lowed on,  watching  closely  lest  something  escape 
the  other's  survey.  Almost,  he  found  himself  hop- 
ing they  might  come  on  the  girl's  dead  body.  Death 
is  not  the  worst  of  evils. 

After  a  mile,  or  a  little  less,  the  area  of  the 
shower  was  passed.  Uncle  Dick  could  hardly  dis- 
tinguish any  sign  of  the  footprints  in  the  heavy  dust 
of  the  trail,  but  he  accepted  without  question  the 
veteran's  assertion  that  they  were  easily  perceptible 
to  the  trained  sight.  Suddenly,  Seth  Jones  halted, 
and  peered  intently,  stooping  low.  Uncle  Dick,  too, 
bent  to  look,  but  the  faint  markings  in  the  dirt  were 
without  significance  to  him.  The  veteran  moved  to 
the  roadside  and  searched  on  hands  and  knees  over 
the  yard  of  grass  between  the  trail  and  a  thicket. 
When  he  stood  erect  again,  he  regarded  his  com- 
panion inquiringly. 

"They  seem  to  be  the  tracks  o'  some  mighty-big, 
hefty  cuss,  wdiat  come  out  o'  these-hyar  bushes,  an' 
tuk  along  arter  her.  Kin  ye  make  a  guess  who  hit 
mout  be.  Mister  Siddon?" 

Uncle  Dick's  face  grew  black  with  a  rage  that 
was  the  more  frightful  because  it  had  no  object  on 
which  to  vent  itself. 

"Hit's  him !"  he  mumbled  thickly,  choking  over 
the  effort  for  self-control.     Abruptly,  he  abandoned 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE       177 

the  attempt.  His  big  voice  boomed  forth  in  a  tor- 
rent of  blasphemous  imprecations.  When,  finally,  he 
rumbled  into  silence,  and  stood  panting  for  breath, 
the  veteran,  who  had  appeared  to  listen  with  great 
interest  and  perhaps  some  pleasure,  spoke  sooth- 
ingly : 

''You-all  was  shore  some  eloquent,  an'  I  'low  the 
ornery  critter  deserves  every  mite  on  hit.  An',  any- 
how, I  reckon  ye  done  saved  yerse'f  a  stroke.  Ye 
was  a-lookin'  hke  ye'd  bust,  but  ye  let  off  the  steam 
a-cussin'  'im  out.  Now,  let's  see."  He  went  back 
to  the  trail,  and  advanced  very  slowly,  for  the 
markings  were  faint  even  to  his  skilled  eyes.  Uncle 
Dick,  trembling  a  little  from  the  violence  of  his 
outburst,  followed  faithfully,  but  he  could  no  long- 
er detect  traces  of  the  passing  of  either  man  or 
girl. 

Thus,  in  slow  progress,  they  came  at  last  to  the 
fork  of  the  trail.  This  is  at  the  extreme  easterly 
slope  of  Bull  Head  Mountain,  which  rises  from  the 
north  side  of  the  valley  as  if  in  sullen  rivalry  of 
Stone  Mountain  below.  In  the  division  of  the  trail 
here,  one  branch  ascends  toward  Glade  Creek, 
across  the  mountain,  while  the  other  keeps  on 
straight  to  Cherry  Lane.  Within  the  fork  of  the 
trails  lies  a  fallen  giant  of  the  coves,  a  huge  yellow 
poplar,  almost  hidden  along  its  length  by  the  em- 
bowering  thickets.      Toward   this,    in   an   advance 


178       HEART  OF,  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

tediously  slow,  the  veteran  made  his  way.  When, 
finally,  he  was  come  up  to  the  great  bole,  he  stood 
quietly  for  minutes,  gazing  everywhere  round 
about.  Uncle  Dick,  emulating  his  companion, 
peered  earnestly,  and  soon  he,  too,  perceived  the  evi- 
dences that  something  out  of  the  ordinary  had  oc- 
curred just  here.  Over  a  considerable  space  next 
the  trunk  there  were  signs  of  a  struggle.  Broken 
branches  showed  on  some  of  the  bushes;  leaves 
from  the  poplar  shoots  were  lying  on  the  grass ;  the 
turf  was  freshly  torn  here  and  there.  The  veteran 
bent  over,  and  picked  up  an  object  from  the  ground, 
which  he  held  out.  Uncle  Dick  gave  one  glance, 
and  uttered  a  cry  of  despair.  He  recognized  it  as 
a  button  from  the  dress  Plutina  had  been  wearing 
the  day  before. 

The  further  search  of  the  veteran  achieved  little. 
He  was  able  only  to  make  sure  that  the  footprints 
led  off  through  the  forest  toward  the  south.  But, 
now,  the  impressions  were  no  longer  of  one  fol- 
lowing the  other.  Instead,  it  was  revealed  that  the 
two  walked  side  by  side.  Uncle  Dick  groaned  as 
his  companion  told  him  of  this.  Plutina  had  been 
attacked ;  she  had  fought ;  she  had  been  overcome — 
and  she  was  still  alive ! 


CHAPTER  XVI 

W^ITH  the  news  of  the  event,  a  flame  of 
wrath  swept  through  the  coves.  Every- 
where, the  men  gathered  in  parties,  to 
hunt,  rifle  in  hand,  for  some  trace  of  the  outlaw. 
There  was  none  to  give  him  favor,  save  the  out- 
casts numbered  among  his  dependants.  The  usual 
sympathy  for  the  illicit  distiller  ceased  utterly,  de- 
stroyed by  hatred  for  the  criminal's  final  offense. 
For  the  first  time  in  the  historv  of  the  mountains, 
there  was  no  voice  raised  to  protest — nor  any  rifle 
pointed  in  the  laurel — against  the  Federal  officers, 
who  wandered  at  will  in  the  wild  places.  In  execra- 
tion of  Dan  Hodges  for  his  sin  against  the  peace 
and  dignity  of  the  community,  the  people  forgot 
for  the  nonce  their  ancient  enmity  against  the  Gov- 
ernment. With  one  accord,  the  folk  of  the  moun- 
tains joined  in  abhorrence  of  Hodges,  sullenly 
anxious  to  bring  about  his  punishment,  to  avenge 
his  victim  at  least,  if  too  late  to  save  her. 

Seth  Jones  turned  from  the  joys  of  the  belated 
honeymoon  to  give  every  aid  in  his  power.  His 
counsel  and  the  comfort  of  his  presence  were  boons 

179 


i8o       HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

to  Uncle  Dick.  The  veteran  had  learned  from  his 
bride  concerning  the  disfavor  in  which  Zeke  was 
held,  and  the  reason  for  it.  It  seemed  to  him  the 
part  of  wisdom,  in  this  crisis,  to  feign  ignorance, 
and  he  blandly  suggested,  on  the  return  of  the  two 
from  the  fallen  poplar,  that  they  should  ride  to 
Joines'  store  in  the  evening,  there,  over  the  telephone, 
to  dispatch  a  telegram  to  Zeke  in  New  York.  It 
was  the  psychological  moment  for  success.  There 
was  not  even  a  flicker  of  resentment  aroused.  Uncle 
Dick  remembered  that  the  Quaker  school-teacher 
spy  had  been  saved  by  Zeke  from  Dan  Hodges.  In 
his  new  mood,  that  fact  was  enough  to  overcome 
all  rancor  against  the  lad.  Moreover,  he  realized 
the  tragedy  of  Plutina's  fate  to  her  lover,  and  he 
was  moved  to  compassion.  He  accepted  the  vet- 
eran's suggestion  without  a  word  of  remonstrance. 
It  was  Seth  Jones,  too,  who  broke  down  the  old 
man's  last  prejudice  by  persuading  him  to  summon 
Marshal  Stone.  Uncle  Dick  yielded  with  an  odd 
mingling  of  emotions — shame  and  relief :  shame 
over  such  trafficking  with  the  *'revenuers,"  whom  he 
had  consistently  fought  and  despised  through  three 
generations ;  relief  that  he  had  gained  the  strong 
arm  of  the  law  to  his  side.  He  had  been  greatly 
heartened  when  Stone  answered  over  the  wire  that 
he  would  set  out  with  a  posse  at  midnight  for  the 
Siddon  cabin,  so  that,  after  a  conference  there,  the 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE       i8i 

active  work  of  searching  could  be  begun  promptly 
at  dawn. 

Thus,  it  came  about  that,  for  the  first  time  in 
history,  Uncle  Dick  Siddon  welcomed  the  sound  of 
hoof  beats  pounding  up  the  trail  through  the  dark 
ness.  Where,  aforetime,  he  would  have  leaped  to 
wind  a  blast  of  warning  to  the  moonshiners  above 
against  the  coming  of  the  "revenuers,"  the  old  man 
now  hastened  to  the  cabin  door,  and  flung  it  wide, 
and  went  forth  on  the  porch  to  give  grateful 
greeting. 

When  a  council  had  been  held,  three  parties  set 
forth.  Seth  Jones  was  the  guide  for  one,  which  went 
to  the  northeast,  through  the  Bull  Head  Mountain 
region,  whither,  in  all  likelihood,  the  outlaw  would 
make  his  way,  if  he  meant  to  escape  out  of  the 
country.  The  marshal,  with  one  companion,  skirted 
Stone  Mountain.  Uncle  Dick  led  two  of  the  posse 
to  the  yellow  poplar  where  the  struggle  had  oc- 
curred, after  which  they  would  follow  the  general 
direction  of  the  tracks.  The  marshal  expected  to 
make  a  circuit  of  the  mountain  rapidly  enough  to 
effect  a  junction  with  Uncle  Dick's  party  by  noon, 
at  the  Woodruff  Gate.  The  veteran  and  his  two 
men,  who  would  have  by  far  the  roughest  going, 
were  not  to  report  until  sundown  at  the  Siddon 
cabin. 

From  the  poplar.  Uncle  Dick  and  the  deputies 


i82       HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

were  able,  with  great  difficulty,  to  follow  the  tracks 
of  the  outlaw  and  his  prisoner  toward  the  south 
for  a  full  mile.  But  at  this  point,  an  expanse  of 
outcropping  rock  baffled  them  completely.  Search 
as  they  would,  there  was  no  least  sign  of  footsteps 
anywhere.  After  an  hour  of  futile  questing,  they 
gave  up  in  despair,  and  hurried  to  the  rendezvous 
at  the  Woodruff  Gate. 

The  marshal  and  his  men  had  already  reached 
the  gate,  and  Stone  had  wherewith  to  give  the  dis- 
traught grandfather  new  hope. 

**I  came  on  their  tracks  a  mile  below  where  you 
lost  them,"  he  explained.  "They  still  keep  to  the 
south.  We  followed  as  far  as  the  sand  bar  below 
Sandy  Creek  Falls." 

''Come  on!"  Uncle  Dick  cried,  fiercely.  "Let's 
arter  'im  this-yer  minute." 

The  marshal  shook  his  head  at  the  old  man's 
enthusiasm. 

"We're  not  much  better  off  yet,"  he  declared.  "We 
found  the  place  where  he  camped  last  night. 
'Twasn't  far.  I  reckon  the  girl  made  his  going 
as  slow  as  she  could.  She  naturally  would."  Uncle 
Dick  nodded  somberlv.  "But  the  trouble  is,  the  trail 
ends  at  the  sand  bar — ends  absolutely." 

"We'll  find  hit  ag'in,"  Uncle  Dick  exclaimed, 
stoutly.     "We  jest  got  to  find  hit.     Come  on!" 

The  marshal  urged  the  other  to  rest  in  prepara- 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE       183 

tion  for  the  hard  climb — down  the  ridge,  and  then 
up  the  sharp  slopes  and  ledges  of  the  mountain- 
side. But  the  old  man  would  have  none  of  it.  So, 
straightway,  the  two  moved  off,  leaving  the  others, 
less  hardy,  to  repose,  and  in  due  time  they  came  to 
the  bar  below  Sandy  Creek  Falls. 

High  among  the  embattled  cliffs  of  Stone  Moun- 
tain's eastern  end,  Sandy  Creek  races  in  tumultuous 
course.  The  limpid  stream  cascades  in  vertical 
sheen  of  silver  from  ledge  to  ledge.  It  writhes  with 
ceaseless  noisy  complainings  through  the  twisting 
ways  of  bowlder-strewn  gorges.  Here  and  there, 
in  some  placid  pool,  it  seems  to  pause,  languid,  rest- 
ing from  its  revels  of  flight.  Such  a  pool  lay  at  the 
foot  of  the  longest  fall.  A  barrier  of  sand  circled 
from  the  cliff  as  the  brim  for  this  bowl  of  the 
waters.  To  this  point.  Marshal  Stone  and  Uncle 
Dick  were  now  come.  The  tracks  were  plainly  dis- 
cernible in  the  sand,  along  the  edge  of  the  pool. 
There  were  the  huge  misshapen  outlines  of  the  out- 
law's bare  feet,  deep-sunken  from  the  heavy  weight 
of  the  man.  Beside  them  showed  the  slender  prints 
made  by  the  captive,  lightly  pressed.  These  tracks 
followed  the  curving  bar,  along  the  water's  edge. 
They  reached  to  the  foot  of  the  cliff,  close  to  where 
was  the  outer  edge  of  the  cataract.  There  they 
ceased. 

The  marshal,  already  familiar  with  the  mystery, 


i84       HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

and  baffled  by  it,  searched  again  perfunctorily. 
Uncle  Dick  hunted  hither  and  yon  with  feverish 
activity,  at  first  confidently,  then  doubtfully,  finally 
in  despair.  He,  in  his  turn,  could  find  no  further 
clue.  He  gave  over  his  efforts  eventually,  and  stood 
silent  beside  the  marshal,  staring  bewilderedly. 
About  the  amphitheatre  formed  by  the  pool,  pines 
grew  in  a  half-circle,  save  where  the  narrow  channel 
of  the  stream  descended.  But  between  the  barri- 
cade of  the  trees  and  the  basin  of  water  lay  the 
smooth  stretch  of  sand,  slightly  moist  from  out- 
fiung  spray  of  the  falls.  Upon  that  level  surface, 
the  tracks  showed  forth — undeniable,  inexplicable. 
They  marched  without  deviation  straight  to  the 
base  of  the  great  cliff.  There,  within  a  little  space, 
they  gew  confused,  as  from  much  trampling.  But 
they  did  not  return;  they  did  not  go  elsewhere. 
There  was  a  clear  distance  of  a  rod  over  the  sand  to 
the  rocky  ground  where  the  trees  grew.  On  the 
other  side  lay  the  deeps  of  the  pool.  Before  them 
reared  the  impassible  wall  of  the  precipice.  And 
there  the  tracks  ended. 

Uncle  Dick  knew  the  place  well,  and  on  that  ac- 
count the  mystery  was  the  greater.  He  could  find 
no  possible  explanation,  however  wildly  improb- 
able, of  that  disappearance.  The  broad  sheet  of 
the  falls  fell  close  to  the  cliff's  face.  The  rock  was 
unworn  by  the  torrent,  without  recess  or  cavern. 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE       185 

And  that  precipice,  twice  the  pool's  width,  mounted 
sheer  a  hundred  feet,  the  height  of  the  cascade.  The 
front  was  unbroken  save  by  tiny  rifts  and  narrow 
ledges,  where  dwarfed  ground  pines  clung  precari- 
ously. With  a  muttered  curse,  the  old  man  turned 
from  his  vain  contemplation  of  the  cliff,  and  let  his 
troubled  eyes  rest  on  the  pool.  Suddenly,  he 
started.  He  remained  motionless  for  a  moment, 
then,  with  nervous  haste  threw  off  his  shirt,  and' 
trousers.  Marshal  Stone,  chancing  to  look  that  way, 
was  astonished  to  see  his  companion  naked,  poised 
at  the  water's  edge.  He  had  time  to  note  with  ad- 
miration the  splendid  figure,  still  supple  and  strong- 
ly muscled  despite  the  four-score  years.  Then  Uncle 
Dick  leaped,  and  dived.  It  was  long  seconds  before 
he  reappeared,  only  to  dive  again.  He  paid  no 
attention  to  the  marshal's  remonstrances.  Only 
when  he  was  convinced  of  the  uselessness  of  further 
search  in  the  pool's  depths,  did  he  give  over  the  task, 
and  cast  himself  down  on  the  sand  to  rest,  panting 
and  trembling  a  little  from  fatigue. 

'They  hain't  thar,"  he  said,  with  grim  conviction. 
Then  he  voiced  the  question  that  hammered  in  his 
brain:  "Whar  be  they?" 

But  the  marshal  had  no  answer. 

As  they  made  their  way  drearily  back  toward  the 
Woodruff  Gate,  the  officer  broke  a  long  silence: 


i86      HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 


"Only  a  blood-hound  can  trail  them!'* 

The  gloom  of  Uncle  Dick's  expression  did  not 
lighten. 

"They  hain't  nary  one  in  the  mountings,"  he 
answered,  heavily. 

"None  nearer  than  Suffolk,  Virginia,"  the  mar- 
shal said.  "Cyclone  Brant  has  a  couple  of  good 
ones.     But  it  would  cost  a  lot." 

The  old  man  flared. 

"Per  God's  sake,  git  thet-thar  feller  an'  his 
dawgs.  I  hain't  axin'  what  hit  '11  cost.  Hit  was 
my  money  got  thet-thar  damned  cuss  out  o'  the 
jail-house.  I  hain't  likely  to  begrudge  anythin'  hit 
'11  cost  to  git  him  kotched.  An'  Plutiny! — why, 
money  don't  matter  none,  if  I  can  save  Plutiny!" 

"Pll  send  for  Brant  to-night,"  the  marshal  prom- 
ised, with  new  cheerfulness.  "Let's  hope  he's  not 
off  somewhere.  They  send  for  him  all  over  the 
country.  If  the  dogs  start  day  after  to-morrow, 
they'll  still  find  the  scent." 

Uncle  Dick  groaned. 

"An'  her  a-lyin'  out  with  thet-thar  wolf  all  thet 
while,"  he  mumbled,  in  despair.  "Mebby,  this  very 
minute,  she's  a-screamin' — callin'  to  her  ole  gran'- 
pap  to  save  her.  My  Plutiny!"  He  walked  with 
lagging  steps;  the  tall  form,  usually  so  erect,  was 
bowed  under  the  burden  of  tormenting  fears.     The 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE       187 

marshal,  understanding,  ventured  no  word  of  com- 
fort. 

It  was  late  afternoon  when  the  dispirited  search- 
ers reached  the  Siddon  clearing  on  their  return 
from  the  fruitless  day's  work.  There,  they  were  as- 
tonished to  see  the  Widow  Higgins  come  down  the 
path  toward  them,  at  a  pace  ordinarily  forbidden  by 
her  rheumatic  joints.  She  waved  a  paper  in  her 
hand. 

*'Hit's  a  telegraph,"  she  called  shrilly.  Her  voice 
held  something  of  the  awe  with  which  remoter 
regions  still  regard  that  method  of  communication. 
But  there  was  a  stronger  emotion  still  that  thus  sent 
the  old  woman  dancing  in  forgetfulness  of  her 
chronic  pains.  It  was  explained  in  her  next  sentence, 
cried  out  with  a  mother's  exultation  in  the  home- 
coming of  her  beloved.  Almost,  in  joy  over  seeing 
her  son  again,  she  forgot  the  misery  that  was  bring- 
ing him. 

"Hit's  from  Zekie!    Zekie's  comin'  home!" 

Uncle  Dick  could  not  share  the  mother's  delight. 
The  lover's  coming  could  hardly  avail  anything 
toward  saving  the  girl.  Nevertheless,  he  took  the 
sheet  of  paper,  which  carried  the  message  sent  on 
by  telephone  from  North  Wilkesboro'  to  Joines' 
store.  He  read  it  aloud,  that  the  marshal  might 
hear: 


i88      HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

Suffolk,  Va. 
Richard  Siddon, 
Joines'  Mill,  N.  C, 

Via  Telephone  from  North  Wilkesboro'. 
Arrive  to-night  with  bloodhound. 

Ezekiel. 

Uncle  Dick's  voice  faltered  a  little  in  the  read- 
ing. The  black  eyes  were  glowing  with  new  hope 
beneath  the  beetling  white  brows,  as  he  lifted  his 
gaze  to  the  mountain  peaks.  For  the  first  time,  he 
felt  a  thrill  of  jubilation  over  the  young  man  whom 
he  had  rejected,  whom  now  he  accepted^jubil- 
ation  for  the  fresh,  virile,  strength  of  the  lad,  for 
the  resourcefulness  that  this  message  so  plainly  de- 
clared. The  old  man's  lips  moved  in  vague,  mute 
phrases,  which  were  the  clumsy  expressions  of 
emotions,  of  gratitude  to  Providence  for  the  bless- 
ing of  another's  energy,  on  which  to  lean  in  this 
time  of  trial.  There  had  been  desperate  need  of 
haste  in  getting  the  hounds  on  the  trail.  Now,  they 
were  coming — to-night.  Zeke  was  bringing  them. 
Perhaps,  after  all,  an  old  man's  declining  years 
would  know  the  fond  tenderness  of  a  daughter's 
care — and  a  son's.  Thank  God  that  Zeke  was  com- 
ing! 


CHAPTER  XVII 

ZEKE,  in  his  new  life,  found  little  leisure  for 
loneliness,    though   nightly    he    fell    asleep 
with  an  ache  of  nostalgia  in  his  heart,  long- 
ing for  the  mountains  of  home  and  the  girl  who 
dwelt  among  them.     But  his  days  were  filled  with 
various   activities   that   held   his   whole   attention.  j 

With  a  mind  keen  and  apt  to  receive  impressions, 
and  hungry  for  knowledge,  he  gave  himself  joyous- 
ly to  learning  the  details  of  Sutton's  tree-nail  manu- 
facture. The  processes  were,  in  fact,  simple,  and 
he  mastered  them  with  ease.  Then,  he  was  in- 
structed more  broadly  in  busines  methods,  with  the 
purpose  of  making  him  competent  when  he  should 
become  a  manager  of  the  projected  factory  in  the 
Blue  Ridge  region.  His  time  was  thus  so  fully  oc- 
cupied that  he  had  neither  opportunity  nor  inclina- 
tion for  social  pleasures. 

He  spent  a  week-end  in  his  employer's  Long 
Island  home,  and  surprised  that  gentleman  mightily 
by  the  propriety  of  his  manners,  which  he  had  ac- 
quired on  the  yacht.  On  this  occasion,  Sutton  spoke 
definitely  of  his  plans.     The  railroad  branch  north 

189 


190       HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

from  the  main  line  was  now  a  certainty,  and  the 
construction  would  soon  start.  At  that  time,  Zeke 
would  return  to  North  Carolina,  and  set  about  se- 
curing options  on  the  best  available  timber.  A  mill 
would  be  built,  and  the  manufacture  of  tree-nails 
carried  on.  Zeke,  in  addition  to  an  adequate  salary, 
would  receive  a  certain  share  of  the  profits.  The 
prospect  was  one  to  delight  any  ambitious  young 
man,  and  Zeke  appreciated  it  to  the  full.  But  most 
of  all  he  rejoiced  that  his  success  should  come  to 
him  in  the  place  he  loved,  where  the  girl  waited. 

Zeke  had  a  companion,  who  shared  with  him 
the  tiny  hall-room,  and  kept  at  his  side  in  long  even- 
ing rambles  through  the  city  streets.  It  came  about 
in  this  wise: 

It  was  one  afternoon  when  he  had  been  in  New 
York  for  a  week,  that  a  visitor  entered,  un- 
announced, the  office  where  he  was  listening  in- 
tently  to  Sutton's  crisp  explanations  of  business 
routine.  Zeke  looked  up  at  the  sound  of  the  open- 
ing door.  Then,  his  jaw  dropped,  his  eyes  widened. 
Next  moment,  he  sprang  to  his  feet,  his  face  radi- 
ant with  welcome.  His  phrases,  in  the  excitement 
of  this  meeting,  were  the  mountaineer's  idioms, 
which  new  associations  were  beginning  to  modify 
in  his  ordinary  speech. 

"Why,  hit's  shorely  Miss  Josephine!"  he  cried, 
as  he  advanced  upon  her,  with  outstretched  hand. 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE       191 

He  saw  the  dog,  straining  toward  him  on  the  leash. 
"An'  thet-thar  man- faced  dawg!" 

There  was  a  httle  interval  of  confusion,  while 
greetings  were  exchanged  amid  the  demonstrative 
antics  of  the  bull-terrier.  Sutton  was  called  away 
presently,  and  then  the  girl  explained  the  object  of 
her  visit. 

"You  never  noticed  it,"  she  said  somewhat  pet- 
tishly; "but  one  time  on  the  yacht,  I  came  up  on 
deck  with  Chubbie.  You  were  over  by  the  rail. 
You  snapped  your  fingers  to  him.  I  ordered  him 
to  stay  with  me.  He  wouldn't  mind.  He  went  to 
you.    Well,  I  decided  right  then  what  I'd  do." 

"Why,  shucks.  Miss  Josephine !"  Zeke  exclaimed, 
in  much  distress.  "He  jest  nacherly  didn't  mean 
nothin'  by  thet." 

"He  showed  something  by  it,  though,"  was  the 
retort.  "He  showed  that  he  belonged  to  you,  and 
not  to  me.  So,  here  he  is."  She  held  out  the  leash 
to  Zeke,  who  took  it  doubtfully,  only  half-com- 
prehending. As  he  was  about  to  speak,  a  gesture 
checked  him. 

"I'm  not  really  a  bit  generous  in  giving  him  to 
you.  My  dog  must  like  me  better  than  anyone 
else  in  the  world.  That's  why  I  really  don't  want 
Chubbie  any  longer.  You're  first  in  his  heart,  and 
I'm  second.     And,  though  I'm  quite  selfish  about 


192       HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

it,  I  know  I'm  doing  him  the  greatest  favor  in  the 
world — that  is,  if  you're  wilHng  to  take  him." 

"I'd  shore  be  tickled  to  death  to  have  him,"  Zeke 
admitted.     "But  it  don't  seem  right." 

"Providence  seems  to  have  arranged  it  that  way, 
anyhow,"  Josephine  declared,  airily.  "Perhaps,  if 
a  surgeon  operated  on  him  for  the  dent  you  put  in 
his  skull,  he  might  cease  loving  you.  But  nothing 
else  seems  likely  to  stop  him." 

The  dog,  thrusting  its  cold  muzzle  against  Zeke*s 
palm,  whined  assent.  Josephine  regarded  her  dis- 
loyal pet  a  little  regretfully. 

"He's  a  good  dog,"  she  aid,  softly.  "He  deserves 
to  be  happy." 

"Plutiny'U  be  plumb  tickled  to  see  the  critter  I've 
wrote  sech  a  heap  about,"  Zeke  remarked.  His 
eyes  were  suddenly  grown  dreamy. 

"You  and  your  Plutina!"  she  railed.  But  her 
voice  was  very  kindly.  When  she  had  learned  of 
the  young  man's  prospects  and  the  nearness  of  his 
return  home,  she  uttered  a  remark  that  puzzled 
Zeke. 

"You  don't  need  to  envy  anyone."  There  was  a 
light  almost  of  jealousy  in  the  blue  eyes. 

"Why,  I  never  thought  o'  sech  a  thing!"  he 
answered  indignantly.     "Why  should  I?" 

"Why,  indeed?"  Josephine  repeated,  and  she 
sighed.    She  sighed  again  on  taking  leave,  when  she 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE       193 

observed  that  the  bull-terrier  made  no  movement  to 
accompany  her,  but  stood  steadfastly  by  Zeke's  side. 

Into  the  happy,  busy  routine  of  Zeke's  life  in 
New  York,  Uncle  Dick's  telegram  came  with  the 
crash  of  catastrophe.  It  was  merely  with  innocent 
wondering  that  he  opened  the  yellow  envelope, 
which  a  messenger  delivered  in  Sutton's  office  on  a 
pleasant  summer  afternoon.  It  was  the  first  missive 
of  the  sort  in  Zeke's  experience,  yet  he  felt  no 
slightest  chill  of  apprehension.  His  mood  was  too 
firmly  joyous  to  be  easily  shaken.  He  merely  won- 
dered, and  felt  no  fear  whatever,  as  he  pulled  out 
the  sheet  of  flimsy  paper,  and  unfolded  it,  while 
his  employer  sat  looking  on  curiously,  himself  al- 
ready suspicious  of  trouble.  Zeke  read  the  type- 
written words  through  stupidly,  under  the  first 
shock  uncomprehending.  Then,  he  repeated  the 
message  aloud,  as  if  challenging  its  meaning. 

*Tlutina  been  stolen,"  ran  the  summons.  ''Dan 
Hodges  done  it.     Need  help." 

The  name  of  Richard  Siddon  as  the  sender  in 
itself  told  how  desperate  must  be  the  situation,  else 
Uncle  Dick  would  not  have  summoned  the  suitor 
he  had  rejected.  Zeke  stared  pitifully  at  Sutton.  His 
eyes  had  the  pathos  of  a  stricken  animal's.  For  a 
little,  he  seemed  dazed  by  the  unexpectedness  of 
this  evil.     Then,  very  soon,  rage  mounted  blackly. 


194      HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 


Sutton,  listening,  could  not  repress  a  shudder  before 
the  deadly  hate  in  Zeke's  voice. 

'T'll  kill  Dan  Hodges!"  was  the  promise.  The 
voice  was  low  and  even,  but  it  roared  in  the  ears 
of  the  listener.  There  was  something  terrifying  in 
the  stark  savagery  that  showed  in  the  mountain- 
eer's tones  and  in  the  drawn,  pallid  face. 

But,  after  the  one  outburst,  Zeke  maintained  an 
appearance  of  hypocritical  calm.  Only  in  the  tremu- 
lousness  of  his  voice  when  he  thanked  Sutton  did 
he  betray  the  depth  of  his  feeling. 

In  truth,  he  had  new  reason  for  gratitude  in  this 
emergency  to  the  man  who  already  had  so  be- 
friended him. 

"You'll  want  to  start  at  once,  of  course,"  Sutton 
said. 

Zeke  nodded  assent. 

"Well,  I  think  I'll  go  with  you.  Perhaps,  I  might 
help.  It'll  be  better  for  you  with  somebody  along." 

Zeke  offered  a  protest,  but  it  was  disregarded. 

"I  know  Plutina,"  Sutton  said,  earnestly,  "and  I 
know  you,  Zeke.   I  want  to  help.   Now,  I  wonder — " 

He  fell  silent  for  a  space,  thinking  deeply.  When 
he  spoke  again  it  was  with  curt  decisiveness : 

"It's  hurrying  things  a  bit,  but  not  too  much.  I'll 
have  you  stay  down  there,  Zeke,  and  get  after  the 
timber  as  soon  as  you  have  Plutina  back." 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE       195 

Then,  as  the  young  man  regarded  him  in  bewil- 
derment, he  explained  fully : 

'T've  just  heard  a  rumor  that  Grearson  and 
Company  are  going  to  send  a  man  down  there.  I'll 
beat  them  to  it.  I  meant  to  start  you  off  in  a  month 
or  so.  But  you've  learned  all  you  need  to  here, 
and  it's  better  to  hurry,  so  as  not  to  run  any  risk 
of  my  competitors  getting  in  ahead.  We'll  get 
away  on  the  train  to-night." 

So  it  came  about  that  the  two  reached  Norfolk 
late  in  the  afternoon  of  the  following  day,  after 
what  had  seemed  to  the  tortured  lover  an  eternity 
of  listless  crawling  toward  the  mountains.  Now 
Zeke  felt  no  longer  dismay  over  the  rapid  flight 
of  the  train,  as  in  his  first  journeying,  but  only  a 
fierce  longing  to  cover  the  miles  more  swiftly.  For 
he  appreciated  how  great  was  the  crisis.  Plu- 
tina  had  written  him  of  her  part  in  the  raid  on 
Hodges'  still,  and  she  had  expressed  in  some  degree 
the  apprehensions  she  felt.  Zeke  was  sure  that, 
somehow,  Plutina's  betrayal  of  the  still  had  become 
known  to  the  outlaw,  and  on  this  account  the  man 
had  sought  vengeance.  The  lover  sickened  at  the 
thought  of  the  form  that  brutal  vengeance  might 
take.  Often,  Sutton,  covertly  watchful,  averted  his 
glance  that  he  might  not  see  the  despair  on  the 
mountaineer's  face. 

The  two  travelers  were  on  their  way  to  the  ferry 


196       HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

in  Norfolk,  when  inspiration  came  to  Zeke:  He 
bethought  him  of  Cyclone  Brant,  and  the  stag- 
hound.  Jack.  A  few  words  sufficed  for  explanation 
of  the  matter  to  Sutton,  who  welcomed  the  idea  of 
securing  such  assistance  for  the  search. 

*'I  kin  git  'im,  if  he's  home,"  Zeke  declared,  eag- 
erly. *'He  lives  in  Suffolk,  'bout  twenty  miles  to- 
ward Wilkes.    I'll  try  an'  git  'im  on  the  'phone." 

In  this,  he  was  successful,  and  he  was  greatly 
cheered  by  the  anxiety  displayed  by  Brant  to  be  of 
assistance.  But  the  detective  was  distressed  over 
the  delay  of  twelve  hours  that  must  ensue  before 
they  could  get  a  train  to  North  Wilkesboro'.  Sut- 
ton removed  this  difficulty  by  ordering  a  special, 
which  should  be  made  up  at  once,  and  should  stop 
at  Suffolk  to  take  on  Brant  and  his  dog.  So,  within 
the  hour,  the  three  men  and  the  hound  were  rush- 
ing at  rocking  speed  along  the  tortuous  river  course 
that  led  into  the  mountains.  Instructions  had  been 
sent  ahead,  by  Brant's  suggestion,  to  have  an  auto- 
mobile and  driver  in  readiness  for  the  arrival  of 
the  party  at  the  North  Wilkesboro'  station. 

The  three  men  talked  but  little  during  the  trip. 
The  tenseness  of  suspense  held  them  in  thrall,  and, 
for  the  most  part,  they  sat  in  grim  silence,  staring 
out  of  the  windows  at  the  swiftly  flitting  panorama 
of  moonlit  landscape,  wherein  the  fertile  level  areas 
changed  to  narrowing  valleys,  and  these,  in  turn. 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE       197 

to  wild  gorges,  where  the  river  ran  in  bellowing  riot 
beneath  lofty  ramparts  of  stone.  Sutton's  thoughts 
veered  from  pity  for  his  young  friend  to  keen  calcu- 
lation of  profits  to  come  from  the  locust  timber  of 
the  slopes.  Cyclone  Brant  mused  on  his  past  ad- 
venturings  in  these  wilds.  From  time  to  time,  he 
pulled  at  the  ears  of  the  stag-hound,  which  sat  on 
its  haunches  in  the  aisle,  balancing  its  big  bulk  elas- 
tically  against  the  erratic  joltings  of  the  car,  and  re- 
garding its  master  with  patient  adoration  in  the 
reddened  eyes. 

Zeke,  too,  had  the  single  comfort  of  a  dog's 
faithful  fondness.  The  bull-terrier  crouched  on  the 
seat  beside  its  master.  The  squat-featured  face  was 
thrust  forward,  with  the  heavy  jaw  resting  on 
Zeke's  lap.  Often,  the  dog  whined,  with  a  soft, 
whimpering  note.  It  was  as  if  the  creature  knew 
its  master's  grief,  and  wished  to  tell  its  sympathy. 
There  was  a  curious  help  to  the  young  man's  cour- 
age in  the  eager,  caressing  thrusts  of  the  cold  nose 
against  his  palm.  And  he  had  need  of  every  help, 
even  the  least,  for,  in  this  period  of  inactivity,  the 
spirit  within  him  was  near  to  fainting.  Because  he 
knew  fully  the  depraved  nature  of  Hodges,  he 
could  not  blind  himself  to  the  frightful  peril  of 
Plutina  in  the  outlaw's  power.  The  girl's  plight  was 
one  to  inspire  horror  in  any  decent  breast;  to  the 
lover,  worshiping  her  as  something  ineffably  holy. 


198       HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

the  possibility  of  her  pollution  by  the  brute  who 
had  stolen  her  away  was  a  thing  too  monstrous  for 
belief,  yet  not  to  be  denied.  He  strove  to  drive  the 
hideous  thought  from  his  mind,  but,  ever,  it  crept 
again  into  his  consciousness.  The  sickness  of  his 
soul  found  its  only  relief  in  bursts  of  fury  against 
the  cause  of  this  wickedness.  His  manhood  asserted 
itself  in  a  primitive  lust  to  torture  and  to  destroy. 

There  were  intervals  of  softer  emotion,  when  he 
lived  again  the  sweet  raptures  of  hours  alone  with 
Plutina  in  the  mountain  solitude.  But  the  moods  of 
retrospection  were  short,  perforce.  They  weakened 
him  too  greatly.  The  very  heart  seemed  to  flow 
from  him  like  water,  as  memories  crowded.  The 
contrast  of  the  present  was  too  hideous  for  endur- 
ance. Again,  the  ghastly  despair — the  black  rage, 
the  whining  of  the  dog,  and  the  thrust  of  the  cold 
muzzle  to  distract  for  a  moment.  Then,  once  more, 
the  agonizing  round. 

The  grinding  of  brakes,  as  the  train  drew  to  a 
standstill  at  North  Wilkesboro',  came  as  a  poignant 
relief  to  the  three  travelers.  Even  the  dogs  seemed 
to  relax  from  strain,  and  a  covert  hostility,  which 
had  marked  their  first  meeting,  vanished  while  they 
sniffed  at  each  other  in  inquisitive,  friendly  fashion. 

The  automobile  was  in  waiting.  Zeke  jumped  in 
beside  the  driver.  The  bull-terrier  was  held  firmly 
between  his  legs.     Sutton,  Brant  and  the  hound  es- 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE       199 

tablished  themselves  in  the  tonneau.  Within  a  min- 
ute after  the  stopping  of  the  train,  the  car  was  roll- 
ing rapidly  over  the  highway  toward  Joines'  mill. 
The  chauffeur  made  the  best  speed  possible  under 
Zeke's  urging,  and  the  run  was  short. 

Beyond  the  mill,  the  trail  branching  off  the  main 
road  was  rough  and  narrow,  traversed  only  by 
horsemen  and  the  clumsy  vehicles  of  the  mountain- 
eers. No  automobile  had  ever  passed  over  it,  and 
the  party  had  planned  to  secure  mounts  at  the  mill, 
and  to  continue  the  journey  on  horseback.  Zeke, 
however,  realized  the  advantage  in  continuing  by 
machine,  were  this  possible,  and  he  suggested  it  to 
the  driver.  The  man  was  doubtful,  but,  too,  he  was 
an  enthusiast  in  his  work,  and  the  opportunity  of 
thus  climbing  the  mountains,  where  no  other  car 
had  been,  appealed  strongly  to  his  ambition.  In 
the  end,  he  consented,  with  a  prudent  stipulation 
concerning  possible  damages.  So,  without  pause, 
the  automobile  shot  forward  past  mill  and  store,  and 
went  clambering  along  the  trail  toward  the  north- 
ern coves.  The  driver  ran  cautiously  enough,  despite 
Zeke's  impatience,  but,  at  the  best,  the  trip  was  a 
strain  on  the  men  and  on  the  mechanism  that  bore 
them,  for  the  car  lurched  and  bounced  over  the 
uneven  surface,  and  more  than  once  was  near  to 
being  overturned.  Their  ultimate  safety  was  due, 
in  great  measure,  to  Zeke  himself.     Familiar  with 


200       HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

every  foot  of  the  way,  he  was  able  to  advise  the 
chauffeur  of  the  more  dangerous  points.  Neither 
Sutton  nor  Brant  had  uttered  a  word  of  protest 
against  undertaking  the  perils  of  this  final  stage,  but 
both  breathed  a  sigh  of  relief,  when,  at  last,  the  car 
stopped  in  the  clearing  before  the  Siddon  cabin,  and 
the  journey  was  safely  done. 

The  wooden  wheels  of  the  poplar  clock  in  the 
cabin  were  whirring  for  the  striking  of  midnight, 
when  their  noise  was  overborne  by  the  grotesque, 
unfamiliar  honkings  of  an  automobile  horn.  With 
the  second  of  the  three  blasts,  the  cabin's  door 
swung  open,  and  in  the  light  of  it  was  silhouetted 
the  tall  form  of  Uncle  Dick. 

"Zeke!"  he  called;  and  his  voice  was  a  little 
broken. 

Then,  with  instinctive  delicacy  of  feeling,  he 
stepped  aside,  as  the  young  man  sprang  up  the 
steps,  and  he  stood  silent,  while  mother  and  son 
were  folded  in  each  other's  arms,  murmuring  en- 
dearments. But,  when  Zeke  at  last  turned  to  face 
the  old  man.  Uncle  Dick's  hand  went  out  to  a  power- 
ful clasp  that  told  how  profoundly  he  was  moved. 

"I'm  glad  ye've  come,  boy,"  he  said,  simply.  And 
Zeke  knew  that  the  old  distrust  and  suspicion  were 
gone  forever,  and  in  their  stead  were  come  affection 
and  faith. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

ZEKE  was  astounded  when  he  looked  around 
the  living-room  and  recognized  Marshal 
Stone,  together  with  the  members  of  the 
posse.  He  suddenly  became  aware  that  the  change 
in  Uncle  Dick  was  even  greater  than  he  had  sup- 
posed. There  had  been  a  radical  readjustment  of 
the  old  man's  attitude  toward  life,  which  disposed 
him  not  only  to  acceptance  of  Zeke  with  affection 
and  confidence,  but  also  to  toleration  of,  and  alli- 
ance with,  the  ''revenuers,"  whom  he  had  so  con- 
sistently hated  through  a  long  lifetime.  Zeke  re- 
frained however,  from  any  open  expression  of  his 
amazement,  and  at  once  joined  the  other  men  in 
devising  a  plan  of  operations  to  be  begun  at  dawn. 

It  was  decided  that  Uncle  Dick  should  accompany 
the  marshal  and  Brant,  with  the  stag-hound,  to  the 
tracks  of  Hodges  and  Plutina  on  the  north  face  of 
Stone  Mountain,  near  Sandy  Creek,  where  the  dog 
could  take  up  the  scent,  in  the  hope  of  solving  the 
mystery  that  had  baffled  the  human  searchers. 

Then  Uncle  Dick  interposed  a  suggestion  that 
suited  Zeke  well. 

201 


202       HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

*Tf  so  be,"  he  exclaimed  abruptly,  "as  how  Dan 
Hodges  is  atop  thet-thar  mounting,  an'  he  gits  the 
dawg  nigh  the  precipice,  he  might  throw  the  critter 
over.  He's  powerful  strong,  Dan  is,  an'  desprit." 

"Yes,  the  fellow's  capable  of  it,"  Stone  agreed. 

"I'm  a-thinkin*  as  hit  mout  be  well  fer  Zeke  to 
git  atop  the  mounting  fust  off,"  Uncle  Dick  contin- 
ued, "an'  watch  out  fer  Hodges.  Hit's  pretty  open 
up  thar,  and  easy  to  layway  a  body." 

"I'll  go,"  Zeke  declared,  with  eagerness. 

The  marshal  directed  the  men  of  the  posse  to 
scatter  to  various  points  on  the  railway  lines. 

"Hodges'll  probably  try  to  get  out  of  the  country, 
the  minute  he  hears  the  hound  after  him,"  Stone 
explained.  "All  of  my  men  have  seen  him,  and 
they'll  be  able  to  stop  him,  if  he  manages  somehow  to 
cover  his  scent  from  the  dog,  and  get  off." 

Sutton,  much  against  his  will,  was  forced  to  re- 
main inactive  at  the  cabin  as  he  was  not  physically 
fitted  for  the  hard  tramping  over  the  mountains. 

Zeke  was  the  prey  of  emotions  too  deep  to  per- 
mit much  interest  in  a  stranger,  but  he  had  a  friend- 
ly, if  wan,  smile  for  the  veteran,  whom  he  remem- 
bered from  their  single  meeting.  He  attempted  a 
display  of  attention  on  hearing  of  the  marriage  so 
recently  achieved,  but  the  effort  failed  pitifully. 
Seth  Jones,  however,  took  no  offence,  since  he  un- 
derstood how  great  must  be  the  young  man's  mis* 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE       203 

ery.  On  the  contrary,  his  sympathies  were  deeply 
stirred,  and  he  essayed  a  few  words  meant  to  com- 
fort. 

"An'  I  reckon  I'll  go  'long  with  you-all,  Zeke,  in 
the  mornin',"  he  concluded. 

But  Zeke  shook  his  head  at  the  offer. 

"I  got  to  cross  over  home  fer  my  rifle-gun,"  he 
explained,  vaguely. 

'T  clean  fergot  to  tell  ye,"  Uncle  Dick  cried.  "Yer 
rifle-gun's  hyar,  Zeke.  I  done   fotched  it  over  fer 

ye." 

"Thank  ye,  Uncle  Dick,"  was  the  grave  response. 
But  the  young  man  did  not  rescind  his  refusal  of 
the  veteran's  company. 

Uncle  Dick  offered  a  share  of  his  bed  to  Brant 
and  the  marshal,  but  it  was  refused  by  both.  There 
were  blankets  spread  for  the  men  on  the  floor  of 
the  porch,  where  the  smoke  gushed  from  a  smudge 
kettle  to  keep  off  the  mosquitoes.  There,  presently, 
the  company  stretched  themselves  for  the  brief 
dreamless  sleep  won  by  the  day's  fatigues. 

Even  Zeke  fell  into  a  sound  slumber,  with  the 
bull-terrier  nestled  at  his  breast.  He  had  not  thought 
to  sleep,  only  to  lie  quiet  for  a  little  rest,  and  then, 
long  before  the  dawn,  to  issue  forth  alone.  Never- 
theless, his  repose  was  profound  for  two  hours,  or 
more.  Perhaps,  the  stirring  of  the  dog  awoke  him; 
perhaps,    his    own    determination,    subconsciously 


204      HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

exerted.  Anyhow,  he  straightened  up  suddenly,  and 
stared  about  him  stupidly,  reluctant  to  believe  that 
he  had  actually  slept  thus,  while  Plutina  cried  out 
for  succor.  He  was  relieved  when  he  perceived 
that  there  was  not  yet  even  a  trace  of  dawn  in  the 
east.  He  realized  that  it  was  as  well,  for  though  he 
had  lost  little  time,  he  felt  vitally  refreshed,  with 
new  vigors  to  battle  in  behalf  of  the  girl  he  loved.  It 
was  but  the  work  of  a  minute  noiselessly  to  possess 
himself  of  his  rifle,  and  to  descend  the  steps.  The 
bull-terrier  kept  close  at  his  heels.  With  the  dog 
still  following,  Zeke,  pressed  forward  through  the 
darkness  toward  Stone  Mountain. 

The  other  sleepers  were  aroused  by  Uncle  Dick 
as  the  first  gray  light  was  flushing  to  the  rose  of 
dawn  over  the  eastern  mountains.  There  was  some 
astonishment  at  finding  Zeke  already  gone,  but  it 
subsided  quickly,  for  all  understood  how  great  must 
be  his  anxiety.  The  men  of  the  posse  duly  took 
their  departure  for  the  railway  points  designated  by 
the  marshal.  Seth  Jones  set  out  in  pursuit  of  Zeke. 
Stone,  with  Uncle  Dick  and  Brant,  made  ready  for 
the  actual  hunting  of  the  outlaw.    • 

'T've  seen  Jack  more  than  once  pick  up  a  cold 
trail  three  days  old,"  the  hound's  master  declared, 
with  a  manifest  pride  in  the  creature's  prowess ;  ''and 
run  down  his  man.     Can  we  get  hold  of  something 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE      205 

to  give  him  the  scent — an  old  shoe,  or  cap — any- 
thing?" 

''Got  jest  the  thing  fer  ye,"  Uncle  Dick  replied, 
leading  the  way  from  the  cabin  toward  one  of  the 
out-buildings.  "Hit's  an  ole  coat.  Dan  left  hit  one 
hot  day  when  he  stopped  in  at  my  forge,  to  tinker 
the  rivets  to  the  cap  o'  the  still.  Hit  was  dum  hot 
thet  day,  an  he  left  'is  coat.  'Twa'n't  wuth  comin' 
back  fer.  I  'low  the  smell's  about  all  thet's  left 
to  hit." 

Brant  showed  the  tattered  garment  to  the  stag- 
hound,  and  bade  the  animal  smell  it.  The  dog  sniffed 
obediently  a  few  times,  sneezed  as  if  in  disgust  of 
the  odor,  regarded  its  master  understandingly,  and 
then  walked  away. 

"That's  all  that's  necessary,"  Cyclone  Brant  de- 
clared.    "The  dog  and  I  are  ready." 

Forthwith,  the  three  men,  with  the  hound,  set 
forth  toward  the  southeast,  to  cut  the  track  of  the 
outlaw  near  Sandy  creek.  They  followed  the  trail 
to  a  point  some  distance  beyond  the  Woodruff 
Gate,  and  then  left  it  to  ascend  the  precipitous 
slopes  near  the  eastern  end  of  Stone  Mountain. 
They  were  not  far  from  Sandy  Creek  Falls,  when 
the  marshal  halted,  and  pointed  out  the  remains  of 
a  camp-fire. 

"This  is  where  Hodges  stopped  to  cook  his  sup- 
per the  first  night,"  he  explained.     "I  followed  the 


2o6      HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

tracks  on  to  the  creek,  and  up  it  to  the  falls,  where 
I  lost  them.     Now,  it's  up  to  the  dog." 

A  growl  from  the  hound  caused  the  three  to  look 
up,  startled.  There  was  an  exclamation  from  Uncle 
Dick,  and  the  rifle  leaped  to  his  shoulder. 

"No,  no — don't  shoot!"  Stone  ordered.  He,  too, 
had  seen  and  recognized  Garry  Hawks,  as  the  fel- 
low, evidently  disconcerted  by  their  presence  there, 
slipped  stealthily  into  the  laurel.  "He'll  be  more 
useful  to  us  alive  presently,"  he  explained  to  Uncle 
Dick,  who  had  obeyed  protestingly. 

"Thet's  so,  likely,"  the  old  man  conceded  grudg- 
ingly. Then  he  chuckled  harshly,  for  the  first  time 
since  Plutina's  disappearance.  "Got  his  right  wing 
slung  up!  Did  ye  see  hit?  Tiny  done  hit — pore 
gal !    Purty  peart  at  shootin'.  Tiny  is.    Thet-thar — " 

"There's  a  fresh  track  here  made  by  Hodges," 
the  marshal  exclaimed,  interrupting.  He  pointed 
to  a  plain  imprint  on  the  dirt  covering  of  a  flat 
rock. 

Brant  brought  his  dog  to  the  spot,  pointed  to  the 
footprint,  and  slipped  the  leash.  The  hound  lowered 
its  head,  snuffed  at  the  ground,  and  gave  tongue.  In 
the  same  second,  it  was  off  at  speed,  running  with 
muzzle  low,  with  the  continuous  whining  yelps  that 
told  of  a  warm  scent.  It  did  not  vanish  into  the 
coverts  as  all  had  expected,  but  followed  through 
the  open  place  that  led  to  the  northward,  skirting 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE       207 

the  wood.  As  the  men  hurried  after,  they  caught 
a  final  ghmpse  of  the  dog  two  hundred  yards  be- 
yond, just  disappearing  over  a  ridge.  They  followed 
the  sound  of  its  baying  with  what  haste  they  might, 
yet  slowly,  by  reason  of  the  difficult  going.  The 
dog's  cries  guided  them,  much  to  the  surprise  of 
Uncle  Dick  and  the  marshal,  straight  toward  Sandy 
Creek  Falls,  whither  the  first  tracks  of  the  outlaw 
and  the  girl  had  led,  and  where  they  had  been  so 
mysteriously  lost.  As  the  three  scrambled  up  a 
steep  ascent,  scarcely  a  hundred  yards  from  the 
sand-bar,  there  came  to  their  ears  from  the  hound 
a  high,  melancholy  howl. 

*Tt  means  that  Jack  is  at  fault,  somehow,"  Brant 
explained  in  answer  to  a  grunt  of  inquiry  from 
Uncle  Dick.  "Something  puzzling  him  for  a  min- 
ute." 

The  two  listeners  looked  at  each  other  with  grave 
faces.  Was  it  possible,  they  wondered,  that  the 
hound  would  be  baffled,  even  as  they  had  been,  there 
at  the  pool?  But  their  expression  lightened  the  next 
moment,  for  two  sharp,  harsh  barks  came  from  the 
dog,  which  was  evidently  still  in  the  neighborhood 
of  the  falls,  and  its  master  interpreted : 

"Jack's  treed  his  game,  sure's  you're  born!" 

The  three  topped  the  ridge,  and  broke  into  a 
run  down  the  slope,  their  rifles  at  the  ready.  With- 
in the  minute,  they  leaped  from  the  thicket  into  the 


2o8       HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

open  place  below  the  falls.    Then,  with  one  accord, 
they  stopped  short  and  stood  staring  bewilderedly. 
The   hound   continued   its    deep-chested   baying. 
It  stood  erect  on  its  hind  legs,  almost  to  a  man's 
height.    It  was  supported  by  its  fore-paws  extended 
as  far  up  as  they  would  reach  against  the  wall  of 
the  precipice,  a  little  to  the  left  of  the  waterfall.  As 
it  barked,  the  dog  held  its  muzzle  pointed  straight 
upward.     There  could  be  no  doubt,  if  the  sensitive- 
ness of  the  brute  were  to  be  relied  on,  that  its  quarry 
had,   in  some  incomprehensible   fashion,   contrived 
to  mount  the  sheer  surface  of  the  cliff.    That  the 
hound  was  sure,  was  made  plain  by  the  rigidity  of  its 
posture,  by  the  fierce,  challenging  ululations,  which 
pealed  forth  incessantly. 

The  three  men  went  forward  presently,  their  gaze 
wandering  aloft  from  the  dog,  over  the  inaccessible 
expanse  of  vertical  cliffs.  They  came  down  to  the 
sand-bar,  and  followed  it  around  the  pool,  still  in 
silence,  and  still  with  their  puzzled  eyes  roving  hither 
and  yon  for  some  clue  to  understanding  of  this 
thing.     But,  of  a  sudden.  Uncle  Dick  shouted : 

'T  see  how  'tis!  I  shorely  kotch  on.  Looky 
thar !" 

The  marshal  and  Brant  followed  the  direction  of 
his  pointing  arm,  but  they  saw  nothing  to  make  the 
matter  clear — only  a  tiny  ledge,  fifty  feet  above 
them,  along  which  grew  a  few  bushes  and  clumps 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE      209 

of  ground  pine.  It  offered  no  hiding-place  for  a 
child  even,  hardly  footing  for  the  outlaw's  heavy 
bulk.  But  Uncle  Dick  shook  his  head  to  rebuke 
their  lack  of  comprehension,  then  explained : 

''Dan's  a  keen  un,  all  right,"  he  said,  with  grudg- 
ing admiration.  ''But  this-hyar  time  he's  done 
left  'is  mark  fer  my  ole  eyes  to  see.  Now,  you-all 
jest  throw  yer  eyes  o'  vision  up  the  side  o'  the  cliff 
ag'in.  If  ye  looks  cluss,  ye  kin  see  a  streak  o' 
dampness  on  the  rock.  Hit's  jet  as  if  a  mounting 
rattler  mout  'a'  dove  down  the  rock  right  thar.  But 
'twa'n't  thet.  Thet-thar  streak  is  the  mark  of  a 
wet  rope — er  mebby  a  grape-vine.  Thet's  the  way 
them  devils  git  up  an'  down.  I'll  bet  every  stick  o' 
my  mounting  timber  them  cusses  got  a  cave  up 
thar,  offen  the  ledge.  P'rhaps  Garry  Hawks  jest 
got  up,  since  we-uns  seen  'im.  An'  the  rock  hain't 
had  time  to  dry  from  the  rope,  er  vine,  a-gittin'  wet 
in  the  falls.  Dan  Hodges  thought  he  had  a  mighty 
cute  place  to  lay  out  in.  But  he's  kotched  jest  the 
same — damn  'im!  .  .  .  Good  dawg!"  The 
change  in  Uncle  Dick's  voice  as  he  spoke  the  last 
two  words  was  startling. 

The  two  listeners  accepted  the  old  man's  solu- 
tion, but  they  did  not  share  his  enthusiasm.  On  the 
contrary,  they  were  very  grave,  for  the  task  before* 
them  appeared  formidable,  if  not  impossible,  of 
achievement.     As  they  continued  silent,  gazing  up- 


210      HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

ward  with  frowning  faces,  Uncle  Dick  regarded 
them  at  first  in  perplexity,  then  in  rapidly-mounting 
apprehension, 

"What's  a-bitin'  on  ye?"  he  demanded,  at  last. 

The  marshal  replied. 

"There's  no  way  of  getting  them  out  of  there. 
They're  armed  and  not  particular  about  murder. 
They  can  hold  that  fort  till  kingdom-come.  Dan 
could  alone.  There's  nothing  for  it  but  to  starve 
'em  out — if  they're  there." 

And  the  trouble  about  that  is,"  Brant  added, 
that  they've  got  the  girl  for  hostage.  It  seems  to 
me  that  this  Dan  Hodges  has  the  whip-hand." 

For  a  little,  Uncle  Dick,  who  had  paled  under  the 
tan,  stood  silent,  looking  helplessly  from  one  to  the 
other  of  his  companions.  Then  he  groaned  aloud. 
But  in  the  next  instant,  he  straightened  to  his  full 
height.  His  face  grew  convulsed  with  rage,  as  he 
faced  the  cliff,  and  his  great  voice  volumed  above 
the  clamor  of  the  cataract : 

"God  A'mighty  damn  ye,  Dan  Hodges!  Damn 
ye — damn  ye!" 

And  then  again  : 

"Damn  ye,  Dan  Hodges,  f erever  an'  ferever !" 


CHAPTER  XIX 

PLUTINA'S  treatment  of  Hodges  had  had  a 
curious  effect  on  that  lawless  character. 
The  humiliation  to  which  he  had  been  sub- 
jected had  indeed  filled  him  with  vicious  rage,  but, 
too,  it  had  inflamed  his  passion  for  the  girl.  Her 
scorn  and  her  fierce  mastery  of  him  had  made  her 
more  than  ever  desirable.  He  was  fascinated  by  the 
strength  and  courage  she  had  displayed.  Brutal  and 
evil  as  he  was,  Hodges  was  strong  physically,  and, 
in  his  own  wicked  way,  strong  of  will.  Because  he 
was  stronger  than  his  fellows,  he  ruled  them. 
Strength  was,  in  fact,  the  one  thing  that  he  could 
admire.  The  revelation  of  it  in  Plutina  at  once; 
set  her  apart  from  all  other  women,  and  gave  to 
his  craving  for  her  a  clumsy  sort  of  veneration. 
But  that  veneration  was  strangely  modified  by  re- 
solve to  be  avenged  for  the  insult  she  had  put  upon 
him.  Thus,  it  had  come  about  that  he  planned  to 
satisfy  his  varied  feelings  toward  the  girl  by  the 
abduction.  He  swore  to  master  her,  to  change  her 
insolence  to  fawning  submission,  to  abject  fondness. 
Hodges  wasted  no  time.  His  sluggish  brain  be- 
gan its  scheming  the  moment  a  turn  in  the  trail  hid 

211 


212       HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

him  from  view,  after  the  ignominious  march  from 
the  Holloman  Gate.  At  sunrise,  next  morning,  he 
was  lurking  on  the  borders  of  the  Siddon  clearing, 
spying  on  the  movements  of  the  family.  He  even 
witnessed  Plutina's  confession  to  her  grandfather, 
of  which  he  guessed  the  purport,  and  at  which  he 
cursed  vilely  beneath  his  breath.  When  Flutina 
set  forth  for  the  Cherry  Lane  post-office,  he  fol- 
lowed, slinking  through  the  forest  at  a  safe  distance 
from  the  trail.  He  was  not  quite  certain  as  to 
where  or  when  he  should  attack  the  girl,  but  he 
meant  to  seize  the  first  favorable  opportunity, 
whether  it  came  sooner  or  later.  It  came,  as  a 
matter  of  fact,  very  soon,  and  it  was  given  by  Plu- 
tina  herself. 

There  at  the  fallen  poplar,  the  girl  found  a  com- 
fortable nook  on  the  big  trunk,  where  her  back  was 
supported  by  a  limb.  The  serenity  of  the  scene 
soothed  her  over-wrought  nerves.  The  sense  of 
relief  that  had  come  from  confession  to  her  grand- 
father was  less  vivid  now.  In  its  stead  was  a 
blessed  peacefulness.  She  watched  lazily  the  visible 
details  of  forest  life  around  about  her.  Her  atten- 
tion centered  finally  on  a  yellow-hammer,  which 
was  industriously  boring  the  trunk  of  a  dead  chest- 
nut. From  the  nest  near-by,  the  callow  young 
thrust  naked  heads,  with  bills  gaping  hungrily. 
Then,  in  a  twinkling,  birds  and  forest  vanished,  and 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE       213 

she  was  standing  on  the  mist-strewn  steeps  of  Stone 
Mountain,  and  Zeke's  arm  was  about  her,  and  her 
hand  was  clasped  in  his.  So,  she  slept,  and  smiled 
a  little  in  her  dreams,  for  the  touch  of  the  breeze 
on  her  cheek  seemed  the  caress  of  her  lover's  lips. 
From  his  lair  in  the  laurel,  Dan  Hodges,  watching, 
knew  that  his  opportunity  was  come.  The  outlaw 
laid  down  his  rifle,  and  drew  from  a  pocket  a  stout 
leash  of  cowhide,  a  yard  long.  Glancing  from  time 
to  time  at  his  intended  victim,  to  see  that  she  still 
slept,  he  hastily  fashioned  a  slip-noose  at  either 
end  of  the  thong.  This  done,  he  began  moving 
forward  with  the  utmost  caution,  taking  advantage 
of  the  cover,  that  he  might  remain  invisible  should 
the  girl  awake.  He  held  the  leash  in  his  two  hands 
ready  for  instant  action.  A  slight  detour  brought 
him  around  the  stump  of  the  poplar,  just  behind 
Plutina.  Advancing  with  even  increased  careful- 
ness now,  he  approached  until  the  girl  was  easily 
within  his  reach.  As  she  reclined  on  the  tree-trunk, 
her  left  hand  hung  at  length  on  the  side  next  to 
him.  The  right  arm  was  bent  along  the  supporting 
branch,  and  the  hand  pillowed  her  cheek.  After  a 
moment  of  doubt,  Hodges  decided  that  he  would 
attempt  to  secure  the  free  wrist  in  a  noose  of  the 
leash  without  awakening  her.  It  would  be  easy 
then  to  catch  and  bind  the  other  wrist.  In  the  con- 
fusion of  sudden  rousing  from  sleep,   she  would 


214      HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

make  no  effective  resistance.     The  capture  would 
be  very  simple. 

It  was,  in  truth,  tragically  simple,  yet  not  so 
simple  as  the  outlaw  had  anticipated.  From  dreams 
of  tenderness,  Plutina  was  suddenly  started  to  hate- 
ful realization  by  the  scarcely  perceptible  touch  of 
this  being  so  repugnant  to  her  every  instinct.  She 
was  confused,  indeed,  but  not  too  confused  for 
frantic  resistance.  It  needed  no  more  than  recog- 
nition of  the  man's  brutal  face  so  close  to  hers  to 
inspire  her.  She  fought  him  with  every  ounce  of 
her  strength.  The  left  hand  was  useless,  held  down 
by  his  on  the  thong,  with  the  noose  drawn  taut  about 
the  wrist.  But  the  outlaw,  though  he  contrived  to 
get  the  other  noose  over  her  right  hand,  failed  some- 
how to  tighten  it  at  once.  She  was  able  to  strike 
at  him  again  and  again.  Her  blows  fell  on  his 
face,  and  they  were  sturdy  blows.  Hodges  made 
no  effort  to  avoid  them,  nor  struck  back — only  bus- 
ied himself  with  the  effort  to  tighten  the  noose.  It 
was  evident  that  he  disdained  her  attack.  A  cer- 
tain virile  pride  forbade  defense  against  this  on- 
slaught of  a  girl.  Finally,  he  brought  his  left  hand 
to  aid  in  adjusting  the  second  noose.  In  the  few 
seconds  of  liberty,  Plutina  abandoned  blows,  and 
resorted  to  savage  clawing  at  the  evil  face.  Her 
ten  nails  streaked  the  coarse  features  with  blood.  But 
still  he  seemed  absolutely  indifferent  to  such  wounds 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE       215 

as  she  could  inflict.  Then,  the  noose  slipped  to 
tightness.  The  girl's  hands  were  brought  close  to- 
gether behind  her  back,  where  she  stood  beside  him. 
He  knotted  the  slack  of  the  leash,  and  holding  the 
loop,  grinned  triumphantly  at  his  captive.  His 
bloody  face  was  a  mask  of  malice. 

"Ye  damned  little  wildcat,"  he  growled,  yet  with 
an  unmistakable  note  of  admiration  in  his  voice, 
"if  I  sarved  ye  'cordin'  to  yer  earnin's,  I'd  shorely 
tap  ye  over  thet-thar  purty  haid  o'  your'n,  an'  pitch 
ye  over  into  the  Devil's  Kittle,  to  wait  fer  yer  runt 
lover  to  come  arter  ye."  He  twisted  her  about 
viciously.  Despite  her  strength,  unusual  in  a 
woman,  Plutina  was  powerless  in  his  grip.  Hold- 
ing her  close,  face  to  face,  he  contemplated  the  girl's 
pitiable  distress  with  gloating  eyes  in  which  there 
was  no  faintest  suggestion  of  pity.  The  prisoner 
met  the  malignant  gaze  for  an  instant.  Then,  her 
eyes  fell,  and  she  stood  trembling.  She  was  pant- 
ing, partly  from  terror,  partly  from  the  violence 
with  which  she  had  struggled.  Hodges  chuckled, 
well  content  over  the  impression  he  had  made.  He 
would  show  her  how  a  woman  should  be  tamed! 
But  the  thing  must  be  done  in  full  accord  with  a 
plan  he  had  made.  Now  that  the  captive  had  duly 
learned  her  first  lesson  in  submissiveness,  he  might 
relax  a  little  from  his  severity  for  a  time.  Besides, 
too  much  fright  might  leave  her  helpless  on  his 


2i6       HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 


hands,  which  would  be  highly  inconvenient,  since 
there  was  a  rough  journey  on  foot  before  them. 
When  he  next  spoke,  he  tried,  without  much  suc- 
cess, to  make  his  voice  conciliatory. 

*'Thar  hain't  no  call  fer  ye  to  be  so  dum  skeery 
— leastways,  not  yit.  I  hain't  a-hurtin'  ye  none — 
not  yit — only  jest  a-tyin'  yer  ban's  to  keep  'em  out 
o'  mischief.  But  I  reckon  as  how  ye'll  hev  to  eat 
them  words  ye  spoke  to  me  at  the  gate  yistiddy.  I 
'low  ye  done  forgot  the  warnin'  I  gin  ye  'bout  play- 
in'  Dan  Hodges  fer  a  fool.  Ye're  lookin'  mighty 
sorry  ye  ever  tried  hit."  He  chuckled  again,  as  he 
meditated  a  humorous  effort :  ''Ye  know  thet  pore 
feller  what  ye  winged  yistiddy?"  He  shook  his 
head  reprovingly.  "You-all  shore  hadn't  orter 
never  'ave  done  no  sech  thing.  Garry  wa'n't  a-bit- 
in'  on  ye  none.  He's  hurt  bad,  Garry  is,  an'  he 
needs  a  nuss  the  worst  way,  Garry  does.  An'  so  I 
come  an'  got  ye."  He  guffawed  over  his  wit.  *Tf 
ye'll  behave  I'll  let  loose  o'  ye  a  mite,  an'  we'll 
stroll  along  a  matter  of  a  few  mile  to  whar  Garry's 
waitin'  awful  impatient." 

Suddenly,  unreasoning  fear  surged  up  in  Plu- 
tina,  brimmed  over  in  a  torrent  of  pleading  words. 
She  knew  the  uselessness  of  appeal  to  this  callous 
wretch.  But  the  instinct  of  terror  in  her  horrible 
situation  mastered  the  girl,  so  that  she  forgot  pride, 
and  besought  his  mercy.     She  was  ghastly  pale,  and 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE      217 

the  dilated  eyes  were  almost  black,  with  a  stricken 
look  in  their  clouded  depths.  Her  voice  was  shak- 
ing. 

''Lemme  go  Dan — lemme  go.  YeVe  done  got 
even  with  me  now  fer  yistiddy.  Lemme  go — I  ax  it 
of  ye,  Dan.  I  done  ye  dirt  yistiddy,  'cause  I  was 
scared  o'  ye.  An'  I'm  scared  o'  ye  now,  Dan. 
Lemme  go  home,  an'  I  won't  never  tell  nobody  how 
ye  kotched  me." 

She  had  raised  her  eyes  beseechingly.  Now,  as 
she  saw  the  smug  mockery  on  her  captor's  face,  she 
fell  silent.  The  futility  of  any  pleading  was  too 
plain.  Her  eyes  shifted  to  the  ground  again.  But 
the  first  wild  fear  was  past,  and  she  began  to  think 
with  some  clearness.  At  once,  it  occurred  to  her 
that  she  must  guard  her  strength  jealously.  She 
had  already  wasted  too  much  in  vain  physical  strug- 
gling and  in  vainer  emotional  outbursts.  She  must 
save  her  energies  henceforth  both  of  body  and  of 
mind,  that  she  might  have  wherewith  to  contrives, 
escape  and  wherewith  to  accomplish  it,  or  wherewith 
to  fight  against  a  lustful  brute  to  the  very  death. 

Hodges  spoke  approval. 

*'Ye're  gittin'  sense.  Better  save  yer  breath  to 
cool  yer  porrich,  stid  o'  wastin'  hit  a-whinin'  to 
me.  But  I  shore  admire  fer  to  hear  ye  squawk. 
Ye  hain't  quite  so  damned  uppitty  as  ye  was  yis- 
tiddy." 


2i8       HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

"I  'low  I  must  do  what  ye  says,"  Plutina  agreed, 
listlessly.  She  felt  very  weary,  now  that  the  re- 
action was  upon  her.  At  whatever  cost,  she  must 
have  an  interval  in  which  to  recover  from  this 
weakness. 

"Thet's  the  ticket!"  Hodges  exclaimed,  with  a 
jovialty  meant  to  be  winning.  He  went  behind  her, 
and  loosened  the  knot  he  had  last  tied,  so  that  her 
wrists,  although  still  fast  bound,  had  a  little  play. 
The  length  of  the  loop  allowed  him  to  move  by  her 
side  with  it  over  his  arm.  "You-all  jest  mosey 
acrost  to  thet-thar  birch  clump,"  he  directed,  point- 
ing. 'T  got  a  rifle-gun  yender,  what  I  kain't  no- 
ways do  without." 

Plutina  walked  obediently  at  his  side  in  the  di- 
rection indicated,  and  stood  passively  while  he 
picked  up  the  weapon.  Then,  in  response  to  his 
command,  she  set  off  with  him  through  the  tor- 
tuous forest  paths  to  the  southward. 

For  the  time  being,  Plutina's  dominant  emotion 
was  a  vast  depression.  It  bore  down  on  her  like  a 
physical  burden,  under  which  she  had  hardly  the 
power  to  go  forward  with  slouching  steps.  It  was 
as  if  the  end  of  the  world  were  come,  with  the  loss 
of  everything  good  and  clean  and  happy.  The  only 
reality  was  this  foul  creature  to  whom  she  was 
bound,  from  whom  there  was  no  escape,  who  had 
but  to  speak  and  she  must  obey,  who  had  the  author- 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE       219 

ity  to  compel  obedience.  She  was  sick  with  horror 
of  the  man's  nearness.  She  felt  defilement  from  the 
avid  eyes,  which  moved  over  her  in  wanton  linger- 
ing from  head  to  foot,  and  back  again.  But  she  had 
no  resource  against  him.  She  could  only  endure 
for  the  present,  awaiting  the  return  of  strength. 
She  could  see  no  glimmer  of  hope  anywhere.  Yet, 
she  strove  numbly  against  this  enveloping  despair. 
She  told  herself  again  and  again  that,  somehow, 
relief  would  come  before  the  dreaded  crisis.  The 
words  were  spiritless;  they  brought  no  conviction. 
Nevertheless,  she  kept  repeating  them  mutely  to  her- 
self, as  she  trudged  drearily  beside  Hodges  toward 
Stone  Mountain. 

*T'll  git  clar  o'  him  somehow — I  will,  I  will! 
Gran'pap'll  kill  'im!    Zeke'll  come!    He  will!" 

It  was  incredible  that  her  lover  could  come,  that 
he  could  even  know  of  the  evil,  until  too  late  to 
save  her.  Yet,  the  thought  of  his  coming  subtly 
cheered  her.  It  persisted  in  defiance  of  all  reason. 
And  the  affrighted  girl  clung  to  it  with  desperate 
tenacity,  as  a  drowning  man  to  the  life  line.  She 
kept  repeating  to  herself,  ''Zeke'll  come !  He  will, 
he  will!"  as  if  the  phrases  were  a  spell  for  the 
soothing  of  terror.  She  wished  that  her  hands 
were  free  to  touch  the  fairy  crystal  in  her  bosom. 

The  outlaw,  after  uncouth  efforts  at  conversation, 
which  met  with  no  response,  relapsed  into  sullen 


220      HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

silence,  and  he  mended  the  pace  until  the  girl  was 
hard  put  to  it  to  keep  up  with  his  stride.  On  the 
first  slopes  of  Stone  Mountain,  he  halted,  evidently 
at  a  spot  where  he  had  camped  on  other  occasions, 
for  presently  he  produced  a  skillet  and  coffee-pot 
and  materials  for  a  rude  meal  from  their  conceal- 
ment in  the  bushes.  But  his  first  care  was  to  place 
the  prisoner  on  a  log,  where  a  sapling  at  her  back 
served  for  attaching  the  loop  of  the  leash.  He 
then  busied  himself  with  making  a  fire  and  prepar- 
ing the  food,  from  time  to  time  jeering  at  the  help- 
less girl,  who  watched  him  with  smouldering  hate 
in  her  eyes. 

"Hit's  you-all  orter  be  a-doin'  these-hyar  chores," 
he  declared,  with  a  grin.  ''An'  they's  a  good  time 
a-comin'  when  ye'U  be  plumb  tickled  to  death  to 
wait  on  yer  Danny  boy.  A  good  time  comin',  cuss 
ye !" 

He  devoured  his  food  ravenously,  washing  it 
down  with  the  coffee.  Finally,  he  brought  slices  of 
bread  and  bacon  to  Plutina,  and  laid  them  in  her 
lap.  He  loosened  her  right  hand  and  so  permitted 
her  to  feed  herself.  It  was  her  impulse  to  refuse 
the  offering,  but  she  resisted  the  folly,  knowing 
the  necessity  of  food,  if  she  would  have  energy 
for  the  ordeal  before  her.  So,  she  gulped  down  the 
bread  and  meat,  and  drank  from  the  dipper  full 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE       221 

of  coffee.  Then,  her  bonds  were  tightened  again, 
and  the  two  renewed  their  march. 

The  going  was  harder  here,  up  and  down  the 
Tock-strewn  slopes.  Fatigue  lay  very  heavy  on 
Plutina,  after  the  strains  of  the  two  days.  Only 
her  hate  of  the  man  at  her  side  bolstered  up  pride, 
so  that  she  compelled  herself  to  keep  moving  by 
sheer  force  of  will.  It  was  already  dusk,  when, 
at  last,  they  issued  from  the  wood  and  went  for- 
ward over  the  shore  of  the  pool  at  Sandy  Creek 
Falls. 

''Wall,  hyar  we  be!"  Hodges  cried  loudly.  There 
was  satisfaction  in  his  voice. 

That  satisfaction  aroused  Plutina  from  the 
apathy  into  which  she  had  fallen,  during  the  last 
half-mile  of  difficult  scrambling,  made  more  toil- 
some by  the  constraint  of  her  bound  wrists.  Now, 
puzzlement  provoked  interest  in  her  surroundings. 
She  had  expected  that  the  outlaw  would  bear  her 
away  to  the  most  convenient  or  the  most  inac- 
cessible of  the  various  secret  retreats  with  which 
rumor  credited  him.  But  here  was  neither  cave 
nor  shack — only  the  level  space  of  sand,  the  mist- 
wreathed  pool,  the  rushing  volume  of  the  falls,  the 
bleak  wall  of  the  cliff  which  towered  above  them 
where  they  had  halted  at  its  base.  She  knew  this 
place.  There  could  be  no  cavern  at  hand.  Her 
eyes  searched  the  space  of  the  inclosure  wonder- 


222       HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

ingly.  Then,  they  went  to  the  man,  whom  she 
found  regarding  her  bewilderment  with  a  smirk 
of  gratification. 

"Hyar  we  be,  right  on  the  door-step,  so  to  say," 
he  bellowed.  "If  ye  kain't  see  the  door-step  yit, 
ye  will  mighty  quick,  unless  thet  pore  feller  ye  shot 
has  gone  an'  died  a-waitin'  fer  you-all  to  come  an' 
nuss  'im.  .  .  .  Yep,  he  was  a-w^atchin',  all  right," 
he  added  briskly.     "Hyar  hit  comes!" 

Plutina's  eyes  followed)  her  captor's  and,  far 
above,  she  made  out  something  that  n dangled  from 
the  slight  break  in  the  cliff.  It  descended  slowly 
and  jerkily,  with  haphazard  gyrations.  As  its  end 
drew  closer,  she  perceived  that  it  was  a  rudely 
constructed  rope-ladder,  with  wooden  rungs.  She 
watched  it  fascinated,  shivering  with  new  fears. 

When  the  flimsy  means  of  ascent  hung  at  its  full 
length,  Hodges  bade  the  girl  climb.  Unnerved  as 
she  already  was,  the  ordeal  of  such  a  progress  to 
the  mysterious  height  above  seemed  too  terrible. 
She  refused  mutely,  shaking  her  head,  and  cower- 
ing away  from  the  outlaw  as  far  as  the  thong  per- 
mitted.    But  the  man  had  no  pity  for  her  timor- 


ousness 


You-all  kin  jest  nacherly  crawl  up  thet-thar 
ladder,"  he  announced,  "or  we'll  sling  ye  on  the 
end  of  a  rope,  an'  h'ist  ye.  Thet  '11  tumble  ye 
round  an'  bump  ye  agin  the  rocks  quite  some.   But 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE       223 

ye're  the  doctor.  If  ye'll  climb  up,  I'll  leave  yer 
ban's  loose,  an'  foller  cluss  behind  ye,  so  ye  kain't 
fall.  Hit's  shore  wobbly,  but  hit's  safe.  Dan 
Hodges  hain't  aimin'  to  git  his  neck  broke — ner 
to  let  the  law  break  it  fer  him!"  he  added,  in  a 
lower  tone  to  himself. 

But  Plutina  caught  the  words.  She  made  noth- 
ing of  them  at  the  time;  afterward,  she  realized 
their  significance,  and  thanked  God  for  them. 

In  the  end,  the  prisoner  yielded  to  necessity  and 
ventured  to  mount  w^ith  reluctant  slowness.  She 
found,  to  her  intense  relief,  that  the  strength  was 
returning  to  her  body.  She  no  longer  felt  the 
pervasive  lassitude.  The  physical  improvement  re- 
acted on  her  mind  to  restore  confidence  in  her 
powers.  She  realized  that  probably  the  only  dan- 
ger lay  in  her  own  faltering,  and  she  resolved  to 
overcome  her  natural  dread,  to  bend  all  her 
energies  to  a  safe  performance  of  the  task.  De- 
spite her  hatred  of  the  man,  she  found  unspeakable 
comfort  in  the  sight  of  his  great  hairy  hands 
clutching  the  ropes  on  either  side  of  her  at  the 
height  of  her  waist.  But,  as  she  mounted,  the  space 
beneath  grew  fearsome  to  her,  and  she  raised  her 
eyes  and  held  them  steadily  on  the  distance  above, 
as  she  had  learned  to  do  in  clambering  with  her 
lover. 

Somehow,  now,  the  thought  of  Zeke  heartened 


224      HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 


Plutina.  Swinging  dizzily  in  the  abyss,  with  the 
arms  of  her  jailer  about  her,  there  flowed  into  her 
soul  a  new  courage.  It  was  without  reason,  an 
absurdity,  a  folly,  but,  oh,  what  a  solace  to  her 
spirit  I  Under  the  stimulus  of  it,  she  ascended  more 
rapidly.  The  pinched,  ugly  face  of  Garry  Hawks, 
glowering  down  at  her  from  the  ledge,  did  not  dis- 
may her,  even  though  the  thought  flashed  on  her 
brain  that  now  this  man  whom  she  had  wounded 
could  hurl  her  to  destruction  by  a  touch.  She  had 
no  fear  of  him;  only  pressed  upward  steadily.  In 
another  moment,  her  head  passed  above  the  level  of 
the  ledge.  She  took  the  hand  Garry  Hawks  held 
out  and  climbed  upon  the  narrow  support,  where 
she  shrank  back  against  the  cliff,  after  one  glance 
into  the  gulf  yawning  at  her  feet.  The  level  space 
was  a  scant  yard  in  width  here,  and  lessened  on  the 
side  away  from  the  falls,  until  it  ceased  entirely. 
In  the  other  direction,  it  ran,  broadening  a  very 
little,  to  where  a  tiny  cleft  showed  in  the  precipice. 
Plutina  guessed  that  this  marked  the  entrance  to 
a  cavern.  Despite  the  bravery  of  her  changed  mood, 
the  eerie  retreat  daunted  her  by  its  desolate  isola- 
tion. Then,  Hodges  climbed  upon  the  ledge,  and 
she  heard  his  shout,  coming  faintly  to  her  ears 
above  the  roar  of  the  cascade  which  fell  just  beyond 
the  cavern's  mouth. 

"Welcome,  home,  Honey!"  he  bawled,  with  his 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE      225 

detested  jocularity.     "They  hain't  nobody  a-goin' 
to  butt  in  on  our  love-makin'  up  hyar." 

Tittering  and  leering,  he  seized  the  girl  by  the 
arm,  and  led  her,  unresisting,  to  the  cranny  that  was 
the  door  of  the  cave.  A  glance  over  her  shoulder 
showed  Garry  Hawks  on  his  knee,  hauling  up  the 
ladder.  She  knew  that  with  its  disappearance  there 
would  remain  nought  by  which  the  searchers  could 
guess  whither  she  had  vanished,  or  how.  Once 
again,  courage  went  out  of  her.  In  its  place  was 
despair. 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE  cave  into  which  Plutina  now  entered 
was  a  small,  uneven  chamber,  some  three 
yards  in  width  at  its  highest  point.  It 
extended  back  for  a  little  way,  but  the  roof  sloped 
downward  so  sharply  that  only  in  the  central  space 
could  the  girl  stand  upright,  and  even  there  Hodges 
had  to  stoop.  On  the  far  side  was  a  hole  in  the 
rocky  wall.  It  was  hardly  a  yard  in  height,  but 
the  faint  glow  that  marked  it  was  proof  that  it 
reached  to  the  daylight  outside.  At  the  best,  it 
could  serve  as  a  passage-way  only  to  one  creeping 
on  hands  and  knees.  So  much  Plutina  perceived 
in  the  first  curious  survey  of  her  prison.  The  in- 
spection was  rendered  possible  by  the  murky  light 
of  a  tallow  candle,  fixed  in  its  own  grease  to  a  frag- 
ment of  stone  near  the  center  of  the  cavern. 

As  the  outlaw  released  his  hold  on  her  arm,  the 
girl  sank  down  listlessly  on  a  part  of  the  wall  that 
projected  like  a  bench  near  the  entrance.  She  leaned 
back  against  the  cold  stone,  and  her  eyes  closed. 
She  felt  a  terrifying  weakness,  against  which  she 
battled  with  what  strength  she  could  summon.    She 

226 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE      227 

dared  not  swoon,  and  so  leave  herself  wholly  help- 
less within  the  power  of  this  man.  She  was  white 
and  trembling,  but  by  force  of  will  she  held  herself 
from  falling,  though  her  muscles  seemed  fluid  as 
milk,  and  blackness  whirled  before  her  eyes. 

Nevertheless,  Hodges  was  not  minded  to  have  a 
fainting  woman  on  his  hands.  His  prisoner's  ap- 
pearance alarmed  him,  and  he  hurried  to  a  corner 
of  the  cave,  whence  he  quickly  returned  with  a  cup 
half-full  of  whiskey.  This  he  held  to  Plutina's  lips. 
She  accepted  the  service,  for  she  could  not  lift  a 
hand,  so  great  was  her  weakness.  She  swallowed 
a  part  of  the  draught,  and  the  strong  liquor  warmed 
and  strengthened  her.  She  was  so  far  restored 
soon  as  to  understand  Hodges'  closing  sentence,  for 
he  had  been  mumbling  at  her. 

"Ye  hain't  so  damned  skittish  as  ye  was  yistiddy," 
he  jeered. 

Plutina  had  no  spirit  to  reply.  She  could  only 
sit  in  abject  lassitude,  content  to  feel  the  glow  of  the 
stimulant  creeping  through  her  veins.  For  a  time, 
her  thoughts  were  stilled  by  the  bodily  torpor.  She 
welcomed  the  respite,  glad  to  rest  from  the  horror 
of  her  plight.  She  heard  the  raucous  voice  of  the 
outlaw  booming  in  her  ears,  but  she  paid  no  heed. 
She  saw  Garry  Hawks  come  into  the  cavern,  wad- 
dling under  the  burden  of  the  rope-ladder,  which 
he  carried  clumsily  by  reason  of  the  wound  in  his 


228      HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

arm.  She  observed  that  the  outlaw  said  something 
to  his  minion,  putting  his  Hps  close  to  the  fellow's 
ear,  lest  he  be  overheard.  But  she  felt  no  curiosity 
as  to  the  purport  of  this  secret  utterance,  nor  did 
she  take  interest  when,  immediately  afterward,  she 
beheld  the  wounded  man  get  down  on  all  fours  and 
crawl  out  of  sight  through  the  hole  in  the  opposite 
side  of  the  cave. 

Little  by  little,  the  prisoner's  forces  came  back  to 
her.  Of  a  sudden,  she  aroused  with  a  start,  as 
though  she  had  been  asleep,  albeit  without  any  con- 
sciousness of  having  slept.  She  felt  a  new  alertness 
now  through  all  her  members,  and  her  brain  was 
clear.  Along  with  this  well-being  came  again  appre- 
ciation of  the  dreadfulness  of  her  case.  She  grew 
rigid  under  the  shock  of  dire  realization,  tensing 
her  muscles,  without  volition,  as  if  to  repel  attack. 
Her  eyes  went  fearfully  to  Hodges,  who  sprawled 
at  ease  on  a  heap  of  spruce  boughs  across  the  cavern 
from  her.  The  man  was  puffing  lazily  at  a  corn- 
cob pipe.  The  rank,  acrid  smell  of  the  tobacco- 
smoke  came  to  her  nostrils,  strangely  home-like  in 
this  weird  prison  cell,  aloft  within  the  crags.  She 
perceived;,  with  infinite  relief,  that  for  the  moment 
he  appeared  absorbed  in  his  thoughts,  disregard ful 
of  her  presence.  At  least,  she  would  have  oppor- 
tunity to  fortify  her  spirit  against  the  fear  that 
beset  her.     She  must  ape  bravery,  even  though  she 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE       229 

sickened  with  terror.  Thus  only  could  she  hope 
to  daunt  the  creature  that  threatened  her.  She  had 
only  moral  strength  with  which  to  resist  him. 
Physically,  she  would  be  as  a  child  in  his  grasp, 
notwithstanding  her  quick,  firm  muscles.  In  a 
bodily  contest,  there  could  be  but  the  single  issue, 
her  vanquishment.  It  would  be  hardly  more  than 
sport  to  him,  the  utmost  of  her  frenzied  strugglings. 
She  saw  the  bloody  marks  of  her  fingers  on  his 
face,  and  remembered  his  stolid  seeming  of  indif- 
ference to  her  fury.  He  had  scorned  her  strength 
then.  So,  he  would  continue  to  scorn  it — with  rea- 
son, since  it  could  by  no  means  avail  against  him. 
Nq,  she  must  have  recourse  to  strength  of  will 
rather,  to  awe  and  intimidate  him.  She  knew  the 
folly  of  such  means  against  the  brutal  desire  of  the 
man.  But  she  clung  to  it  as  a  meed  of  hope,  because 
she  had  naught  else  to  which  to  cling.  Without 
a  hope,  even  the  falsest,  she  must  have  gone  mad. 

One  thing  seemed  favoring  for  the  time.  The 
man  was  evidently  sober.  Plutina  wondered  at  that, 
for  Hodges  was  not  often  sober,  and  excess  of 
liquor  was  an  accustomed  part  in  all  his  pleasures. 
His  abstinence  now  puzzled  her,  but  it  relieved  her, 
too,  since  it  promised  some  postponement  of  his 
worst  advances.  Thus  encouraged,  she  set  herself 
to  review  the  situation  in  detail,  in  forlorn  attempt 
to  come  on  a  way  of  escape.    But  a  half-hour  of 


230      HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

effort  left  her  distraught.  She  could  devise  nothing 
to  suit  her  need.  Only  one  thought  remained  for 
tragical  comfort  in  her  wretchedness:  In  her  last 
extremity,  she  might  cast  herself  from  the  cliff. 
Better  a  thousand  times  clean  death  than  defilement. 
.  .  .  Plutina  remembered  her  grandfather's  re- 
gret over  her  having  spared  the  outlaw.  Now,  with 
her  finger  on  the  trigger,  there  would  have  been  no 
faltering,  only  joy  and  thanksgiving. 

The  defenseless  girl  watched  furtively.  When, 
at  last,  Hodges  stirred  from  his  indolent  sprawl, 
knocked  the  dottle  from  his  pipe,  and  looked  up 
at  her,  she  shrank  visibly.  The  blood  rushed  back 
to  her  heart  in  a  flood,  leaving  her  pallid,  and  she 
was  trembling.  Even  in  the  feeble  light  from  the 
guttering  candle,  Hodges  could  perceive  her  dis- 
turbance. It  gratified  him,  and  he  laughed,  in  sinis- 
ter glee  over  her  emotion. 

"I  'low  ye're  gittin'  some  tame  since  yistiddy," 
he  exclaimed.  He  got  to  his  feet  slowly,  whereat 
Plutina  looked  toward  the  entrance  cleft,  ready  if 
the  need  came,  to  fly  from  him  to  the  more  merciful 
abyss.  But  Hodges  moved  toward  the  back  of  the 
cave  where  he  brought  out  a  stone  jug  from  its 
niche,  and  returned  to  the  bed  of  boughs.  Seated 
again,  he  filled  the  tin  cup  full  of  spirits,  and  drank 
it  down.  With  the  pipe  recharged  and  burning, 
he  continued  to  sit  in  silence,  regarding  the  girl  with 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE       231 

an  unswerving  intentness  that  tortured  her.  At  short 
intervals,  he  replenished  the  cup  and  quaffed  it 
thirstily.  He  was  rapidly  compensating  for  his 
earlier  abstinence.  Plutina,  studying  him  covertly, 
noted  the  beginnings  of  drunkenness  and  its  various 
stages.  There  was  gruesome  fascination  in  her 
scrutiny ;  for  she  knew  that  her  honor  rested  on  the 
hazard  of  a  sot's  whim. 

Suddenly,  the  girl  knew  that  the  peril  was  very 
close  upon  her.  Hodges  was  staring  at  her  from 
his  reddened  eyes  with  a  rampant  lustfulness  that 
was  unmistakable.  Again,  she  measured  the  dis- 
tances, to  make  sure  that  the  last  desperate  means 
of  escape  from  his  embraces  lay  open  still.  She 
meant,  in  the  final  crisis,  to  spring  to  the  crevice, 
before  he  could  approach  within  reach  of  her. 
There,  with  the  verge  of  the  cliff  only  a  step  away, 
she  would  make  her  plea,  with  death  in  the  gulf  as 
the  alternative  of  failure,  the  ultimate  safeguard 
of  honor. 

There  could  be  no  doubt  concerning  the  im- 
minence of  the  danger.  The  usually  red  face  of 
the  outlaw  was  mottled  purple,  congested  by  the 
stimuli  of  liquor  and  passion.  The  thick  under- 
lip  hung  slackly,  quivering  from  time  to  time  in 
the  convulsive  tremors  of  desire  that  ran  over  him. 
A  high  light  fell  on  the  man's  neck,  where  the  open 
shirt  left  it  bare.     Plutina's  gaze  was  caught  by  the 


232       HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

slight  rise  and  fall  of  the  flesh  above  the  artery. 
The  movement  was  made  distinguishable  across  the 
cavern  by  the  effects  of  light  and  shade.  The  girl 
found  herself  mechanically  counting  the  throbs. 
The  rapidity  of  them  amazed  her.  They  witnessed 
the  fever  raging  in  his  blood — the  fever  that 
clamored  for  assuagement  from  her.  The  galloping 
pulse  enthralled  her  with  horror.  It  made  visible 
the  vile  fires  raging  in  him.  So  swift  the  rhythm 
grew  that  a  hideous  hope  sprang  up  in  the  watcher 
— hope  that  an  apoplexy  might  stretch  the  man  dead 
at  her  feet. 

Hodges  reached  for  the  jug,  and  poured  from  it 
into  the  cup,  and  drank.  The  girl  perceived  that, 
in  the  few  seconds,  his  mood  had  changed  utterly. 
The  purple  of  his  face  was  dingy  with  gray.  He 
was  trembling  now.  His  eyes  moved  restlessly,  as 
if  fearful  of  something  to  issue  from  the  darkness. 
Not  once  did  they  rest  on  her.  She  remembered 
the  racing  pulse  in  his  throat,  and  looked  for  it. 
To  her  astonishment,  it  was  no  longer  to  be  seen, 
though  the  light  fell  on  the  place  as  before.  She 
knew  then  that  the  fever  had  died,  and  she  marveled 
mightily.  But  she  recognized  more,  for  she  was 
unharmed  still.  The  changed  mood  of  her  enemy 
promised  immunity,   for  a  time  at  least. 

Yet  once  again,  the  outlaw  drank.  Then,  with- 
out a  word  to  the  prisoner,  or  so  much  as  a  look  in 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE       233 

her  direction,  he  got  down  on  his  hands  and  knees, 
and  crawled  out  of  sight  through  the  hole  in  the 
wall. 

For  what  seemed  to  her  ages,  Plutina  waited  for 
his  return,  dreading  a  new,  obscene  mood.  But  the 
time  dragged  on,  and  there  was  no  sign  of  his 
coming.  The  candle  flared  and  smoked,  went  out. 
The  girl  huddled  in  the  dark,  listening  now,  for  her 
eyes  could  not  pierce  the  blackness.  The  roar  of 
the  waterfall  filled  her  ears.  The  noise  dismayed 
her,  for  it  must  inevitably  cover  all  lesser  sounds, 
even  those  close  at  hand.  Any  evil  might  leap  on 
her  without  warning,  out  of  the  darkness.  She  felt 
her  helplessness  multiplied,  intolerable,  thus  blinded 
and  deafened.  She  longed  to  shriek,  pitting  shrill 
clamor  against  the  bass  thunders  of  the  cascade. 
She  began  to  fear  lest  madness  seize  her  if  she  re- 
mained longer  thus  supinely  crouching  amid  the 
terrors  of  this  place.  Obeying  a  sudden  impulse, 
she  got  up,  and  gropingly,  with  shuffling,  cautious 
steps,  moved  across  the  cavern.  When  she  reached 
the  opposite  wall,  she  got  down  on  hands  and  knees, 
and  crawled  until  her  searching  fingers  found  the 
emptiness  of  the  hole  through  which  the  men  had 
passed.  Then,  she  drew  back  a  little,  and  sat  with 
alert  ears,  sure  that  none  could  issue  into  the  cavern 
now  without  her  knowledge. 

The  relief  afforded  by  the  action  soon  waned 


234      HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

Terrors  crowded  on  her  again  in  the  second  period 
of  waiting.  In  desperation,  she  determined  to  ex- 
plore the  hole  itself.  She  tried  to  examine  the 
project  carefully  and  found  nothing  to  stay  her 
purpose.  Joy  leaped  in  her  at  the  thought  that  a 
way  of  escape  even  might  be  ready  to  her  hand. 
She  believed  it  more  likely,  however,  that  the  pas- 
sage led  merely  to  another  chamber  in  the  cliff. 
If  such  should  be  the  case,  and  either  or  both  of  the 
men  were  sleeping  there,  she  could  probably  ascer- 
tain the  fact  readily  without  being  herself  dis- 
covered, since  here  the  sound  of  the  falls  was  muf- 
fled. Forthwith,  she  crept  slowly  within  the  open- 
ing. 

The  progress  was  snail-like.  The  rough  rock  of 
the  floor  cut  into  her  knees  cruelly,  but  she  disre- 
garded the  pain,  and  went  forward.  She  tested 
each  inch  of  the  way  by  feeling  over  the  stones  with 
her  hands,  on  either  side  and  along  the  floor.  The 
narrowness  of  the  passage,  which  was  hardly  more 
than  its  height,  rendered  thorough  examination 
easy.  She  found  no  lateral  openings,  nor  did  the 
space  grow  perceptibly  larger.  It  suddenly  occurred 
to  her,  after  having  advanced  steadily,  though  very 
slowly,  for  five  minutes,  that  she  could  not  turn 
around.  To  return,  she  must  back  out.  The  idea 
appalled  her,  and  she  meditated  retreat.  Then,  while 
she  was  yet  undecided,  the  hand  groping  in  front  of 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE       235 

her  touched  on  stone  above  the  floor  level.  A  short 
investigation  proved  that  here  the  passage  was 
barred.  She  could  feel  space  between  the  edges  of 
the  tunnel  and  the  mass  of  stone  that  closed  it. 
Since  there  was  no  other  point  of  egress,  both  men 
must  have  passed  through.  Afterward,  the  opening 
had  been  closed  by  rolling  a  heavy  rock  before  it. 
She  put  her  strength  in  pressure  against  the  stone, 
without  avail.  It  was  too  heavy  for  her  muscles. 
She  realized  that  by  this  simple  means  she  was  shut 
within  her  prison.  It  w^as  almost  with  relief  that 
she  began  to  creep  backward — to  be  astounded  by 
the  shortness  of  the  way.  It  was  scarcely  a  minute 
before  she  was  in  the  chamber  again.  To  guard 
against  surprise  in  the  darkness,  she  pushed  the 
couch  of  boughs  a  little  way  along  the  wall,  so  that 
it  projected  across  the  mouth  of  the  tunnel.  This 
done,  she  seated  herself  on  the  branches,  assured  that 
no  one  could  enter  the  cavern  without  giving  her 
warning.  Even  should  she  sleep,  the  thrusting  away 
of  the  boughs  from  the  orifice  must  surely  awaken 
her. 

Nevertheless,  Plutina  did  not  expect  the  boon 
of  sleep,  though  she  longed  for  it  with  aching  in- 
tensity. In  spite  of  this  temporary  respite,  she 
could  see  no  way  of  escape  from  the  outlaw's 
power,  except  by  death.  The  vagaries  of  a 
drunken  mood  had  saved  her  to-night:  they  could 


236      HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

not  save  her  for  long.  And,  then,  even  while  she 
mourned  the  hopelessness  of  her  case,  oblivion  fell 
on  her,  and  she  slept  the  reposeful,  dreamless  slum- 
ber of  utter  exhaustion. 

A  violent  shaking  of  the  bed  of  boughs  startled 
the  prisoner  back  to  consciousness.  For  the  frac- 
tion of  a  second,  her  mind  was  chaos.  Then  re- 
membrance came,  and  rending  fear.  But  there  was 
one  comfort — day  had  dawned:  she  could  see. 
There  was  no  one  with  her  in  the  chamber.  The 
moving  branches  warned  that  the  intruder  was  still 
in  the  tunnel.  There  was  time  for  her  to  gain  the 
crevice,  where  she  could  forbid  any  approach,  where 
if  her  command  failed,  she  could  throw  herself 
from  the  cliff.  She  darted  across  the  width  of  the 
room,  and  stood  in  the  cleft,  strained  back  against 
the  rock,  her  eyes  staring  affrightedly  toward  the 
opposite  wall.  All  her  woman's  terrors  were  crash- 
ing upon  her  now.  She  felt  Death  clawing  at  her 
over  the  brow  of  the  ledge,  fierce  to  drag  her  into 
the  depths.  One  of  the  hands  clutching  at  her 
bosom  touched  the  fairy  crystal,  and  she  seized  it 
despairingly,  and  clung  to  it,  as  if  the  secret  spell 
of  it  might  hold  her  back  to  life. 

Abruptly,  a  broken  cry  of  relief  fluttered  from 
her  lips,  for  she  saw  the  shock  head  of  Garry 
Hawks  thrust  from  the  tunnel's  mouth.  Toward 
him,  she  felt  no  fear,  only  contempt.     In  the  reac- 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE      237 

tion,  she  trembled  so  that  she  could  hardly  stand, 
and  for  a  few  moments  her  eyes  closed.  Only  the 
rock  against  which  she  leaned  saved  her  from 
crumbling  to  the  floor.  The  weakness  passed  very 
quickly,  however,  and  she  was  again  mistress  of 
herself  by  the  time  Hawks  had  scrambled  to  his 
feet. 

The  fellow  had  little  to  say,  answering  surlily 
the  questions  put  to  him  by  Plutina.  He  plainly  cher- 
ished animosity  against  the  girl  who  had  wounded 
him,  which  was  natural  enough.  As  plainly,  he 
did  not  dare  vent  his  spite  too  openly  against  the 
object  of  his  chief's  fondness.  He  brought  with 
him  a  bag  containing  bread  and  a  liberal  allowance 
of  cooked  slices  of  bacon,  and  a  jug  of  water.  His 
information  was  to  the  effect  that  Hodges  would 
not  return  until  nightfall  He  left  in  the  fashion 
of  his  coming,  by  the  tunnel.  Plutina  immediately 
replaced  the  boughs,  and,  when  she  had  eaten  and 
drunk,  again  seated  herself  on  the  rough  bed.  From 
time  to  time,  she  went  to  the  crevice,  and  stared 
out  over  the  wild  landscape  longingly.  But  the 
height  gave  her  a  vertigo  if  she  stepped  forth  upon 
the  ledge.  For  that  reason,  she  did  not  venture  out- 
side the  crevice  after  a  single  attempt,  which  set 
her  brain  reeling.  She  remained  instead  well  with- 
in the  cleft,  where  she  was  unaffected  by  the  height, 
while   able   to   behold   the   vast   reaches   of   sunlit 


238      HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

space  before  her.  The  area  about  the  foot  of  the 
precipice  was,  however,  cut  off  from  her  vision. 
So  it  came  about  that,  though  she  went  twice  to  the 
crevice  and  looked  out  during  the  intervals  while 
the  marshal,  first  with  his  men  and  afterward  with 
her  grandfather,  was  searching  about  the  pool,  she 
knew  nothing  concerning  the  nearness  of  aid.  She 
could  not  see  the  men,  and  the  din  of  the  falls 
covered  their  voices. 

Occasionally,  the  girl  lapsed  into  a  quietude  that 
was  half-stupor  and  half -sleep,  the  while  she  re- 
clined on  the  boughs.  These  were  blessed  periods 
of  rest  for  the  over-strained  nerves,  and  she  strove 
to  prolong  them — always  in  vain.  For  the  most 
part,  she  hurried  about  with  febrile,  aimless  move- 
ments. She  found  herself  wondering  often  if  to- 
day were  to  be  the  last  of  her  life.  She  could  see 
no  other  issue.  The  night  would  bring  Hodges, 
and  the  crisis  of  her  fate.  She  could  not  hope  for  a 
second  escape  through  a  drunken  vagary.  There 
would  be  only  the  leap  from  the  ledge  to-night.  As 
she  stood  in  the  crevice,  and  looked  out  on  the 
smiling  sylvan  glory  of  the  scene,  as  the  soft  sum- 
mer breeze  caressed  her  cheeks,  and  the  balsamic 
air  filled  her  bosom  with  its  gently  penetrant  vigors, 
she  realized  as  never  before  the  miracle  of  life,  its 
goodness  and  sweet  savors.  She  cried  out  against 
the  hideous  thing  that  was  come  upon  her.     The 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE      239 

every  fiber  of  her  being  flamed  in  revolt  against 
the  idea  of  death.  Every  atom  of  her  clamored 
for  life  and  love.  And  there  were  only  shame  and 
death  for  her  choice.  She  took  out  the  fairy  crys- 
tal, and  prayed  to  the  sacred  sign  it  bore,  beholding 
it  dimly  though  scalding  tears.  But  faith  flickered 
and  went  out.  Her  soul  sickened.  .  .  .  For  her, 
there  was  nothing  else — just  shame  and  death.  No 
— only  death. 

Plutina  would  have  tried  escape  by  the  rope- 
ladder,  but  she  found  its  weight  too  much  for  her 
strength,  so  sorely  over-tried  by  racking  emotions. 
Even  had  she  been  able  to  carry  the  burden  it  would 
have  availed  nothing,  for  the  dizziness  attacked  her 
whenever  she  drew  near  the  verge.  In  her  despera- 
tion, she  even  crept  the  length  of  the  tunnel  a  se- 
cond time,  on  the  faint  chance  that  the  exit  might 
now  be  less  secure.  She  found  the  rock  barrier 
immovable  as  before,  though  the  rim  of  light 
showed  that  here  was,  in  very  truth,  the  way  to 
freedom,  and  she  pushed  frantically  at  the  obstacle 
until  utterly  exhausted. 

It  was  when  evening  drew  down  that,  at  last, 
there  sounded  the  noise  of  a  writhing  body  within 
the  tunnel,  and,  from  her  point  of  refuge  close  to 
the  crevice,  she  saw  the  outlaw  crawl  out  of  the 
passage,  and  stand  before  her  like  a  demon  of  the 
darkness,  leering  at  her  fatuously. 


240      HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

"You-all  is  shore  makin'  quite  a  visit,"  he  re- 
marked,  with  heavy  sarcasm. 

*'An'  it  kain't  hep  ye  none,  Dan,"  Plutina  re- 
torted. 'T  hates  ye,  an'  yer  keepin'  me  hyar  hain't 
goin'  to  do  ye  no  good.  If  ye  goes  fer  to  lay  a 
finger  on  me,  I'll  go  over  the  cliff.  I'm  worse  scairt 
o'  yer  touchin'  me  than  I  be  o'  the  rocks  down  thar, 
Dan."  Her  voice  was  colorless,  but  an  undertone 
of  finality  ran  in  it. 

The  outlaw  regarded  her  sharply  from  his  in- 
flamed eyes.  It  may  be  that  her  sincerity  impressed 
him.  Yet,  he  betrayed  no  feeling  as  he  answered, 
carelessly : 

"Hain't  no  call  fer  ye  to  be  so  damned  ornery. 
I  hain't  a  goin'  to  tech  ye — yit.  We'll  be  together 
quite  a  spell,  I  reckon — till  I  gits  sick  o'  havin'  ye 
round.  If  I  wanted  ye  I  could  jump  ye  easy  from 
hyar.  I'm  some  spry,  if  I  be  big.  But  ye  needn't 
be  skeered,  I'm  tellin'  ye.    I  hain't  a-goin'  to  tech  ye 

The  final  monosyllable  was  charged  with  sinister 
import,  but  the  man's  assurance  of  her  present 
safety  was,  somehow,  convincing,  and  she  accepted 
it  with  the  emotional  gratitude  of  one  sentenced 
to  death  who  receives  a  reprieve.  She  sank  down 
on  the  stone  bench  near  the  crevice,  and  watched 
her  jailer  with  unwavering  attention,  while  he  pro- 
duced a  candle  from  his  pocket,  and  lighted  it,  and  * 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE       241 

had  recourse  again  to  the  stone  jug  of  whiskey, 
which  had  remained  by  the  bed  of  boughs. 

To-night,  the  fiery  drams  made  him  garrulous, 
and  he  discussed  his  affairs,  his  hopes,  and  plans, 
with  a  freedom  that  showed  how  complete  was  his 
expectation  of  retaining  the  girl  in  his  power. 
Thu^,  Plutina  learned  of  the  search  being  made  for 
her,  which  was  now  the  active  cause  in  changing 
the  outlaw's  purpose  in  the  immediate  disposal  of 
his   prisoner. 

'T  was  aimin'  to  lay  low  with  ye  right  hyar,"  he 
explained,  after  his  fourth  sup  of  the  spirits.  ''But 
I  reckon  hit's  a  goin'  to  be  a  heap  safer  to  ske- 
daddle. I  ain't  a-wantin'  no  damned  dawgs  fer 
to  chaw  me  up.  So  I'm  goin'  to  mosey  over  Bull 
Head  t'-morrer.  You-all  '11  go  'long,  nice  an' 
peaceable — er  ye'll  be  drug."  He  spoke  with  a 
snarl  now.  ''Ye'll  know  hit,  when  I  once  git  ye 
cross  the  state  line — cuss  ye !  Ye'll  find  I  hain't  so 
damned   shy,   arter  all!" 

Plutina  cowered  before  the  savage  threat  in  the 
words.  There  was  no  mistaking  the  expression  in 
the  lustful  eyes  burning  on  her.  His  regard  was 
in  itself  contamination.  It  was  the  prophecy  of 
worse,  of  the  final  wickedness,  to  come.  The  af- 
flicted girl  thrilled  with  loathing  before  the  satyr- 
like aspect  of  this  man,  foul  of  flesh  and  soul.  But, 
along  with  abhorrence  of  the  creature  who  held  her 


242       HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

in  his  keeping  so  ruthlessly,  there  was  another  emo- 
tion— that  recurrent  wonder  concerning  such  delay 
in  the  base  gratification  craved  by  his  passion.  She 
could  not  doubt  the  fierce  longing  that  seethed  in 
his  veins.  It  was  like  a  visible  thing  flaming  from 
him;  and  tangible,  for  she  felt  the  impact  of  those 
brutal  desires  thronging  against  the  white  shield 
of  her  own  purity,  powerless  to  penetrate,  yet  nau- 
seating her  by  the  unclean  impact.  What,  then, 
interposed  to  check  him?  What  hidden  force  held 
him  back  from  working  his  will  against  her?  She 
could  make  no  surmise.  Certainly,  here  was  no 
physical  restraint  to  stay  him.  As  certainly,  no 
moral  reason  w^ould  be  of  effect.  The  thing  was 
altogether  mysterious.  So,  she  marveled  mightily, 
and  was  curious  to  understand,  even  while  she 
thanked  God  for  the  further  respite.  And  now, 
too,  hope  began  to  burn  again.  Surely,  if  she  were 
to  accompany  him  on  the  trails  as  he  had  said,  there 
w^ould  come  the  opportunity  for  escape.  He  could 
not  be  on  guard  ceaselessly.  Vigilance  must  relax 
on  accasion.  It  would  not  be  then  as  here  in  this 
dreadful  cavern,  perched  'twixt  earth  and  sky. 
She  broke  off  to  listen,  for  the  outlaw,  hav- 
ing filled  his  pipe  and  drained  a  deep  draught  of  the 
liquor,  was  become  loquacious  again.  This  time, 
thanks  to  the  drink,  he  waxed  confidential,  intimate 
even. 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE       243 

"I  kin  git  away  from  hyar,  an'  no  damned  dawg 
kain't  f oiler  my  tracks,  nuther.  Er  if  he  does,  he'll 
drap  inter  the  Devil's  Kittle.  But  I  knows  my  way 
'bout  in  these-hyar  mountings.  An'  ye  needn't  be 
afeared  o'  losin'  me.  Honey.  I'll  hang  onto  ye 
good  an'  tight.  When  I  git  ye  over  the  line,  I'll 
have  a  parson,  if  ye  want.  I  hain't  a-keerin'  one  way, 
or  t'other.  But  I  got  to  have  ye,  willin'  or  not  will- 
in',  parson  or  no  parson.  I'd  hev  ye  t'-night  if 
'twan't  fer  jest  one  cussed  thing.  Hit's  a'mighty 
hard  to  hev  yer  blood  a-b'ilin',  till  ye're  like  to  bust 
jest  'cause  of  a  slip  of  a  gal,  what  ye  could  smash 
in  yer  two  ban's — an'  her  so  high  an'  mighty!" 
The  querulous  voice  ceased,  while  he  had  recourse 
again  to  the  stone  jug. 

When  next  he  spoke,  it  was  evident  that  his  mood 
had  changed.  He  was  no  longer  harshly  self-assert- 
ive, vainglorious,  or  brutally  frank  concerning  the 
passion  that  consumed  him.  He  was,  instead, 
strangely  reminiscent,  with  involuntary  revelation 
of  the  weakness  that  preyed  upon  him.  The  girl 
was  grateful  for  the  change  in  him,  but  her  be- 
wilderment increased. 

'T  seen  a  feller  hung  once,"  Hodges  said.  His 
guttural,  awed  tones  were  hushed  almost  to  a 
whisper.  "They  pulled  a  black  cap  down  over  'is 
face,  so's  he  couldn't  see  nothin'  'bout  what  he  was 
up  ag'inst.     An'  his  ban's  was  tied  together  behind 


244      HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

'is  neck,  with  the  knot  up  under  his  ear — 'is  left 
ear,  I  'member  hit  was.     I  'member  partic'lar." 

The  speaker's  gaze  had  been  downcast;  not  once 
had  he  looked  at  Plutina.  It  was  as  if  he  had  for- 
gotten the  girl's  presence  there  with  him,  and 
communed  aloud  with  his  own  gristly  memories 
of  the  death-scene  he  had  witnessed.  His  huge 
bulk  seemed  somehow  shrunken — a  physical  shrivel- 
ing in  response  to  the  craven  fear  in  his  soul.  That 
gray,  mottled  purpled  of  his  face  showed  again. 
Plutina  wondered,  if,  indeed,  this  same  memory 
had  been  in  his  thoughts  the  night  before.  But,  if 
so,  it  only  made  the  thing  the  more  inexplicable. 
Why  should  a  hanging,  long-past,  thus  haunt  him? 
He  was  no  nervous  weakling,  to  be  tortured  by 
imaginary  fears.  Yet,  now,  he  displayed  unmis- 
takable signs  of  terror,  in  his  voice,  his  eyes,  his 
whole  mien,  in  the  shaking  haste  that  spilled  the 
half  of  the  drink  he  poured  out. 

'T  seen  'im  hung,"  he  repeated,  abjectly.  "They 
let  the  trap  drap  from  under  his  feet — an'  'im  alt 
tied,  an'  thet-thar  black  cap  pulled  down  over  'is 
face  to  blind  'im.  Hit  were  plumb  awful  fer  to 
see  'im  drap.  An'  then  the  rope  stopped  'im  right 
in  the  air.  Hit  were  a  drefful  yank  he  got.  They 
say,  hit  broke  'is  neck,  so's  he  didn't  feel  nothin' 
more.  But  I  dunno.  Hit  looked  like  he  felt  a  heap, 
fer  he  kicked  an'  squirmed  like  hell.  Hit  weren't 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE       245 

purty  fer  to  see.  I've  seen  a  big  bull-frog  what  I've 
speared  kick  an'  squirm  jest  like  'im.  No,  hit 
weren't  purty.  I'd  shore  hate  fer  to  have  my  neck 
bruk  thet-thar  way.  Damn  the  law,  anyhow !  They 
hadn't  orter  treat  no  white  man  thet-thar  way.  Hit 
must  feel  awful,  a-standin'  up  thar,  with  thet-thar 
cap  down  over  ye,  shuttin'  out  everythin' — ferever; 
an'  with  thet-thar  noose  round  yer  neck,  an'  the 
knot  a-ticklin'  yer  ear — yer  left  ear.  I  'member 
specially.  An'  a-knowin'  the  noose  is  a-goin'  to 
tighten,  an'  cut  off  yer  breath — fer  always.  An' 
a-standin'  on  thet-thar  trap,  an'  a-knowin'  hit's 
goin'  to  drap — a-knowin'  the  bottom's  a-goin'  to 
drap  right  out  o' — everythin' !  I  don't  never  want 
my  neck  bruk  no  sech  way's  thet.  Hit  hain't 
right." 

Plutina,  staring  wide-eyed,  saw  to  her  stupefac- 
tion that  tears  trickled  from  the  eyes  of  the  maud- 
lin man;  she  heard  him  whimpering.  Once  more, 
he  poured  himself  a  drink.  He  mumbled  unin- 
telligibly for  a  little.  Then,  of  a  sudden,  his  voice 
rose  in  a  last  flare  of  energy,  before  he  rolled  on 
the  boughs  in  sodden  slumber. 

"Damn  the  law  in  this-hyar  state!  Hit  hain't 
right,  nohow.  Jest  'cause  a  feller  loves  a  gal — to 
hang  'im!  I  hain't  af eared  o'  nothin'  else,  s' fur's 
I  knows,  but  I'd  hate  fer  to  have  my  neck  bruk  like 
his'n  was.     I  hain't  a-takin'  no  chancet  o'  thet.  I'll 


246      HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 


wait  till  I'm  over  the  line.     But  hit's  hell  to  crave 
a  woman !" 

Raucous  snores  told  the  girl  that  the  man  slept, 
that  again  she  had  passed  through  the  ordeal  in 
safety.  And  now,  at  last,  she  knew  the  cause  of  her 
escape  thus  far.  The  mystery  that  had  baffled  her 
was  a  mystery  no  longer.  Out  of  the  creature's 
own  mouth  had  come  the  explanation.  Driven  on 
by  gusty  passion  as  he  was,  a  yet  stronger  emotion 
triumphed  over  lust.  Of  imagination  he  had  little, 
but  he  had  seen  a  man  hanged.  His  memory  of 
that  death  had  been  her  salvation,  for  such  is  the 
punishment  meted  to  the  violator  of  a  woman  in 
North  Carolina.  In  Dan  Hodges,  that  master  emo- 
tion, lust,  had  met  a  mightier — fear.  Because  he  was 
a  coward,  he  had  not  ventured  even  the  least  caress, 
lest  passion  seize  him  and  make  him  mad — forgetful 
of  how  that  other  man  died  so  horribly.  She  had 
been  spared  because  between  him  and  her  a  scaffold 
loomed. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

THE  full-throated  baying  of  a  hound.  Men, 
far  in  the  valleys  below  Stone  Mountain, 
looked  up,  and  listened,  wondering.  But 
those  on  the  mountain  heard  and  understood :  Dan 
Hodges  was  being  run  to  earth. 

The  clew  offered  by  the  wet  place  on  the  cliff  had 
sufficed  for  the  three  men  who  accompanied  the 
stag-hound.  They  had  marked  the  spot  carefully 
in  memory  by  its  distance  from  a  certain  stunted 
pine  growing  above  it  and  a  rift  in  the  precipice  to 
one  side.  Then  they  had  ascended  a  furlong  to 
the  north,  where  the  ascent  was  gradual  and  broken. 
When  they  had  made  sure  that  they  were  at  the 
proper  level,  they  searched  for  an  approach  to  the 
desired  ledge.  The  dog  found  the  scent  by  the  tun- 
nel, but  Brant  did  not  loose  the  animal.  Stone's 
eyes  caught  traces  of  where  a  bowlder  had  been 
moved.  A  little  more  searching  revealed  the  opening 
covered  by  the  stone,  which  they  rolled  aside. 

"But  he's  not  there,  now,"  Brant  declared,  as  he 
restrained  the  eager  dog.  "Jack  is  wild  to  be  off, 
and  he  wouldn't  take  a  back  track. 

247 


248      HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

Uncle  Dick,  eager  to  make  sure,  would  have  at- 
tempted the  passage,  but  Stone  interposed. 

'T'U  go,"  he  declared.  "It's  my  right— my  pris- 
oner, you  know.  Anyhow,  it'll  be  a  snug-enough 
fit  for  me,  and  I'm  smaller  than  you,  Uncle  Dick." 

The  old  man  grudgingly  admitted  the  fact,  and 
made  way  for  the  marshal.  In  five  minutes.  Stone 
was  back. 

"Nobody  there,"  he  announced. 

"Then  it's  up  to  Jack,"  Brant  exclaimed,  and 
slipped  the  leash. 

The  hound  shot  forward  in  full  cry.  The  men 
hurried  after  at  top  speed.  Almost  immediately, 
the  dog  vanished  among  the  thickets.  There  came 
a  clatter  of  sliding  stones,  as  the  big  beast  went 
galloping  up  the  rise  toward  the  crest  of  the  moun- 
tain. The  men  followed  as  best  they  might,  guided 
by  the  baying.  Uncle  Dick  listened  with  blood- 
thirsty hopefulness  for  the  crack  of  Zeke's  rifle, 
which  he  would  recognize. 

The  fugitive  himself  heard  the  hound's  sonorous 
summons,  and  wasted  breath  in  cursing.  He  cursed 
his  potations  over-night,  which  had  led  him  to  sleep 
beyond  the  sunrise.  But  for  such  drunken  folly, 
he  would  have  had  the  trailer  hopelessly  at  fault. 
Now,  at  best,  it  would  be  a  close  race — and  there 
was  the  girl  to  hamper  and  hinder.  She  was  run- 
ning at  his  side,   obedient  to  the  pressure  of  his 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE       249 

hands.  He  had  replaced  the  cowhide  thong,  with 
her  hands  in  front  of  her,  and  with  play  enough  for 
free  movement.  So  far,  she  had  made  no  resistance 
to  his  commands.  But  the  barking  of  the  dog  would 
warn  her.     If  she  should  turn  balky — 

What  the  outlaw  feared,  came  to  pass.  The 
hoarse  baying  sounded  to  Plutina's  ears  like  sweet- 
est music.  The  first  note  told  her  that  friends  were 
at  hand  for  a  rescue  from  the  monster  by  her  side. 
Her  heart  leaped  in  the  joy  of  it.  A  new  courage 
surged  in  her — courage  to  defy  this  creature  that 
held  her  in  thrall. 

They  were  come  already  across  the  most  of  the 
plain  of  naked  rock  that  is  the  top  of  the  mountain. 
They  had  rushed  without  pause  through  the  little 
grove  of  dwarf  pines  that  grows  near  the  Devil's 
Slide,  above  the  Cauldron.  They  were  come,  indeed, 
to  the  very  edge  of  the  Slide  itself  before  Plutina 
acted.  After  all,  it  was  not  the  new  courage,  but  a 
newer  fear,  that  forced  her.  She  had  one  swift 
glimpse  of  the  valley  spread  a  thousand  feet  below, 
the  giant  trees  like  tiniest  saplings,  so  far  away — 
that  dear,  adorable  valley,  where  were  home  and 
peace  and  love.  But,  between  her  and  it,  the  preci- 
pice fell ;  between  her  and  it,  the  Devil's  Pot  boiled ; 
between  her  and  it  was  this  man,  who  drove  her 
with  curses.  She  looked  away  from  the  beloved 
valley  into  the  loathsome  face,  and  she  saw  the  fear 


250      HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

in  his  eyes — fear,  and  something  else  that  terrified 
her.  She  reaHzed  suddenly  that  she  was  on  the 
very  verge  of  the  Slide,  where  none  might  venture 
and  live.  There,  just  beyond,  was  the  darkened  sur- 
face of  the  rock  where  the  shallow  stream  went 
slithering  down  into  the  Cauldron.  An  hysteria 
of  fear  gripped  her,  as  he  dragged  her  forward,  out 
upon  the  sloping  stone  that  dipped  toward  the  abyss. 
She  believed  that  he  meant  to  hurl  her  from  the 
height.  Thus,  there  would  be  left  no  evidence  of 
his  crime.  His  passion  for  her  was  nothing  now — 
only  his  passion  for  life. 

''Quick,  damn  ye !"  Hodges  rasped.    "1  know  the 
way  in  the  dark.  Ye  needn't  be  skeered  none  with 


me." 


He  meant  it;  but  the  girl  did  not  believe.  She 
thought  it  a  ruse  to  get  her  closer  to  the  edge.  She 
shrieked  in  despair,  and  sprang  away  from  him. 
His  clutch  on  the  thong  checked  her.  He  jerked  her 
back  to  him,  hardly  pausing  in  his  stride.  She 
struck  at  his  face  furiously,  but  he  dragged  her  on 
toward  the  brink,  mouthing  at  her  with  foul  oaths. 
She  fell  to  her  knees,  and  hung,  screaming,  a  dead 
weight.  The  baying  of  the  hound  sounded  closer. 
Hodges  threw  a  glance  over  his  shoulder,  and  saw 
the  dog  charging  from  the  grove.  He  would  have 
fired,  but  the  girl  was  in  the  way.  With  a  final 
blasphemy,  he  dropped  his  rifle,  and  struck  at  her — 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE       251 

full  in  the  face.  She  sank  down  limply,  uncon- 
scious. Her  body  slid  away  slowly,  yet  with  a 
quickening  movement,  toward  the  gulf. 

Hodges  gave  not  even  a  look  to  his  victim.  He 
heard  the  challenge  of  the  hound,  now  fairly  upon 
him.  There  was  no  time  to  shoot.  He  used  cun- 
ning instead.  A  mighty  jump  carried  him  over 
the  moist  surface  where  the  stream  flowed.  He 
alighted  on  the  dry  rock.  His  bare  feet  clutched  and 
held  on  the  sloping  surface.  .  .  .  No  instinct 
warned  the  hound.  Its  leap  brought  it  down  in  the 
wet  run-way.  Its  feet  shot  from  under.  The 
force  of  its  rush  finished  the  work.  The  outlaw 
turned  just  in  time  to  see  the  hound  disappear  over 
the  cliff. 

Before  he  had  time  for  exultation  over  this  vic- 
tory, before  he  could  look  to  see  how  fared  the 
girl  whom  he  had  struck  down  so  ruthlessly,  before 
he  guessed  the  new  peril,  another  enemy  was  upon 
him. 

Zeke,  too,  had  heard  the  baying  of  the  hound. 
Trembling  with  eagerness,  where  he  lurked  behind 
a  screen  of  bushes  at  the  south  of  the  grove,  he 
knew  that  the  dog  was  hot  on  the  trail.  He  went 
racing  toward  the  sound,  with  the  bull-terrier  at 
his  heels.  He  had  just  entered  among  the  trees, 
when  he  saw  the  hound  careen  past  him.  He  fol- 
lowed, and,  as  he  issued  into  the  open,  saw  the  man 


252       HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

and  the  girl  struggling  on  the  edge  of  the  precipice. 
He  sickened  at  the  spectacle,  but  there  was  no  fal- 
tering. With  every  atom  of  energy  in  speed,  he 
darted  down  the  slope.  He  saw  the  blow  that 
crumpled  Plutina  to  the  rock.  He  saw  it  through 
a  veil  of  red.  What  he  did  not  see  was  the  low, 
stealthy,  yet  quickening,  slide  of  her  body  toward 
the  brim  of  the  abyss.  So,  all  unconscious  of  that 
'  peril  to  the  one  he  loved,  he  sprang  to  attack  his 
enemy.  He  saw  the  hound's  fate,  and  understood 
the  cause  of  it.  He,  in  turn,  cleared  the  treacherous 
wet  surface  by  a  mighty  leap.  That  leap  brought 
him  full  on  the  outlaw's  back.  The  two  men  went 
down  togethe. 

The  crash  of  Hodges'  head  on  the  rock  had  well 
been  enough  to  crack  an  ordinary  skull.  But  his 
was  strong,  and  the  unkempt  thatch  of  hair  cush- 
ioned it,  so  that  he  got  no  serious  hurt.  A'  little 
dazed  by  the  blow,  and  by  the  unexpectedness  of  the 
onslaught — nothing  more.  And  he  had  the  bravery 
of  triumphant  physical  strength.  In  the  instant  of 
attack,  he  fought  back  viciously,  with  blind  thrust 
and  clutch.  A  long,  powerful  arm  writhed  around 
Zeke  like  a  band  of  steel,  and  held  the  assailant  im- 
movable. Lying  there  on  his  back,  the  outlaw 
looked  up  into  Zeke's  face,  and  recognized  it,  and 
cursed  this  unexpected  foe  obscenely. 

Zeke  wasted  no  energy  in  words.     He  was  mad 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE       253 

with  rage  against  the  man  he  hated.  His  one  desire 
was  to  kill.  He  twined  his  fingers  in  the  tangled 
hair,  and  beat  the  head  upon  the  stone  floor  again 
and  again.  But  the  leverage  of  his  arms  was  cut 
down  too  much.  He  could  not  even  stun  the  out- 
law, much  less  kill.  He  could  not  reach  his  rifle, 
which  he  had  dropped  when  he  sprang  to  the  attack. 
He  could  not  draw  his  revolver  by  reason  of  the 
encircling  arms.  He  could  only  hammer  his  enemy's 
head  on  the  rock,  with  a  cruel  lust  for  slaughter 
that  availed  nothing  except  to  madden  him  by  its 
futility.  His  strength,  great  though  it  was,  was  not 
enough  against  the  man  he  fought. 

Hodges  proved  the  fact  presently,  for  by  a  tre- 
mendous effort,  he  turned,  and  pinned  Zeke  under- 
neath. The  force  of  the  impact  under  the  out- 
law's heavy  weight  laid  the  lad  unconscious.  The 
fingers  unclenched  from  his  adversary's  hair;  he 
lay  limp.  Hodges  rose  to  his  feet,  with  shambling 
haste.  But,  if  he  meant  to  kill,  fate  thwarted  him. 
One  foot  was  placed  on  the  treacherous  dampened 
rock.  It  slid  from  under  him.  He  was  thrown 
from  his  balance,  and  sprawled  at  length.  He 
scrambled  on  all  fours  toward  the  other  side  of 
the  run-way  with  desperate  haste.  He  did  not  at- 
tempt to  rise.  A  moment  later,  he  slipped  slowly 
over  the  brow  of  the  cliff. 

Seth  Jones,  just  issuing  from  the  grove,  saw  the 


254      HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

vanishing  of  the  outlaw,  but,  at  the  distance,  he 
could  not  distinguish  the  man's  identity  or  that  of 
the  other,  lying  motionless  on  the  sloping  rock.  For 
the  instant,  however,  he  gave  no  heed  to  either  for 
sheer  horror  of  something  else  he  saw — the  uncon- 
scious girl,  moving  so  inexorably  to  her  doom.  He 
shouted  in  despair,  as  he  raced  toward  her.  But 
he  knew  he  must  be  too  late.  He  was  powerless  to 
stay  her  fall — as  was  the  bull-terrier,  which  had 
seized  her  skirt  and  still  clung,  only  to  be  dragged 
down  with  her  into  the  void.  Before  he  was  come 
to  the  beginning  of  the  Slide,  girl  and  dog  had  tra- 
versed it — had  shot  out  into  the  emptiness  of 
space. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

THE  veteran  gazed  down  at  the  sloping  ex- 
panse of  stone  that  curved  to  the  sheer 
drop  of  the  precipice.  He  was  absolutely 
helpless  in  the  face  of  the  catastrophe  he  had  wit- 
nessed. A  man,  a  girl  and  a  dog  had  gone  to  their 
death  in  this  frightful  place  within  the  minute.  Al- 
ready, the  corpses  were  stewing  in  the  Devil's  Pot 
half-a-thousand  feet  below,  he  reflected  grimly. 
There  was  nothing  to  be  done  for  them  now,  or 
ever.  He  felt  a  whirl  of  nausea  within  him,  but 
fought  back  the  weakness.  He  shuddered,  as  he 
thought  of  the  man  behind  him,  lying  senseless  on 
the  edge  of  the  Slide.  Was  it  Hodges  whom  he 
had  seen  plunge  into  the  depths,  or  was  it — Zeke? 
It  was  with  fearful  apprehension  that  he  turned  at 
last  to  learn  as  to  which  remained. 

A  little  cry  of  relief  escaped  him,  for  at  a  glance 
he  recognized  Zeke.  He  sprang  forward,  and,  in 
a  moment,  had  assured  himself  that  the  young  man 
was  not  dead,  was  not  even  seriously  wounded.  He 
guessed  that  a  fall  on  the  rocks  had  merely  stunned. 
As  best  he  could  with  one  hand,  he  got  out  his 

255 


256      HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

pocket-flask,  and  finally  managed  to  force  a  little 
of  the  liquor  between  the  clenched  teeth.  Presently, 
it  took  effect.  The  color  came  back  into  Zeke's 
face,  and  he  stirred,  and  groaned.  Then  he  sat  up, 
resting  against  the  veteran's  arm. 

Before  there  was  time  for  any  interchange  of 
words  between  the  two,  a  shout  aroused  them  to 
look  toward  the  grove.  They  saw  the  marshal 
dashing  down  the  slope.  Close  behind  him  ran  Cy- 
clone Brant.  Uncle  Dick  lagged  a  little,  the  burden 
of  years  pressing  too  heavily  at  last.  The  three 
came  swiftly  and  gathered  about  the  two  on  the  edge 
of  the  Shde.  Dismay  was  writ  large  on  their  faces. 
The  silence  of  the  hound,  Zeke  stricken  and  alone 
with  the  veteran,  aroused  their  suspicion  of  dis- 
aster. 

^'Where's  Jack?"  Brant  demanded.  His  heart 
was  in  the  question.  The  fate  of  the  others  was  of 
less  concern  to  him  than  that  of  the  animal  he  loved. 

Zeke  answered,  strongly  enough,  for  now  energy 
was  flowing  back  into  him. 

"The  hound  went  over,"  he  said,  regretfully.  "I 
saw  him.  He  slipped  an'  fell,  an'  was  gone  like  a 
flash." 

Brant  turned  away  to  hide  his  distress. 

But  in  Zeke  recollection  welled.  He  clutched  at 
the  marshal,  and  drew  himself  to  his  feet,  where, 
after  an  instant,  he  stood  firmly.     His  eyes  went 


,      HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE       257 

searchingly  over  the  barren  surface  of  the  SHde. 
They  dilated.  Fright  hned  his  face — then,  horror. 
He  stared  wildly,  his  gaze  roving  over  all  the  moun- 
tain-top, once  and  again — and  again.  When  words 
came,  they  were  broken,  surcharged  with  the  horrid 
fear  that  was  on  him. 

"Whar — whar  is  she — Tiny?" 

His  look  went  to  the  four  men  in  turn,  piteously 
pleading.  Each  of  the  three  met  the  look  and  an- 
swered it  by  a  shake  of  the  head.  But  the  veteran 
could  not  endure  the  anguish  in  the  lover's  eyes. 
His  own  dropped.  He  did  not  shake  his  head. 
Zeke  strove  for  courage. 

"Whar  is  she?"  he  demanded,  at  length.  His 
voice  was  more  composed  now,  but  his  eyes  were 
flaming. 

The  veteran  answered  very  softly,  but  without 
any  attempt  at  evasion. 

*T  saw  her  go,  Zeke — over  the  cliff.  Thet  little 
dawg  o'  your'n  had  a  holt  on  her  skirt.  But  he 
hadn't  the  heft  to  keep  her  from  goin'.  The  dawg 
did  the  best  he  knew  how.  But  'twa'n't  no  use,  an' 
he  went,  too.  I  was  too  fur  off  to  grab  her.  I 
reckon  she  fainted.  She  didn't  scream,  ner  move 
none  to  save  herself." 

There  was  a  little  period  of  silence.  These  men 
were  schooled  to  the  concealment  of  deepest  emo- 
tions.    There  was  no   frantic  outburst    from  the 


258      HEART  OE  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

bereaved  lover,  from  the  afflicted  grandfather. 
There  was  not  even  comment  or  further  question- 
ing. Of  what  avail?  The  thing  was  done.  The 
girl  was  lost  forever,  dead.  But  the  other  men 
looked  away,  lest  they  see  the  agony  in  Zeke's 
face. 

Abruptly,  the  young  man  started  walking  down 
the  slope.  He  wore  shoes,  and  they  slipped  a  little 
on  the  smooth  stone.  Straight  down  toward  the 
brink  he  strode.  The  curve  of  the  dome  made 
every  step  more  perilous.  It  was  a  natural,  an  irre- 
sistible impulse  to  look  on  the  precise  place  where 
the  loved  one  had  perished,  but  it  appeared  as  if 
he  walked  to  his  death.  Indeed,  his  danger  was 
grave,    for   he  had    forgotten   the    shoes    he  wore. 

.  .  .  Or,  perhaps,  he  did  not  care !  Uncle  Dick 
uttered  an  oath,  and  leaped  in  pursuit.  It  was  only 
a  matter  of  seconds  to  overtake  the  young  man, 
seize  him,  turn  him  about  and  march  him  back  with 
fierce  expostulations  that  were  a  welcome  vent  to 
emotion. 

Zeke  obeyed  readily,  aware  of  his  momentary 
folly.  Then,  as  he  rejoined  the  group,  hate  flared 
again.  Memory  of  the  fight  was  confused  by  the 
blow  on  his  head.  He  questioned  Seth  Jones  harsh- 
ly, with  a  single  word : 

"Hodges  r 

The  veteran  permitted  himself  a  faint  smile.  The 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE       259 

cruelty  of  the  soldier,  accustomed  to  violent  deaths, 
was  in  it.  There  was,  too,  a  curious  smugness,  a  se- 
cret complacency. 

"I  'low  yer  wits  are  some  shook  up  yit,  bein'  as 
how  ye  disremember,"  he  remarked  easily.  "Ye 
trun  Hodges  over  the  cliff,  Zeke,  jest  as  ye  went 
down.  Hit  were  nip  an'  tuck  atween  ye,  an'  ye 
bested  'im."  The  kindly  veteran  believed  the  He 
would  be  a  life-long  source  of  satisfaction  to  the 
lad,  who  had  been  so  fearfully  despoiled.  Now,  his 
belief  was  justified  by  the  fierce  pleasure  that  showed 
for  a  moment  in  Zeke's  pain-drawn  face. 

"I  kain't  seem  to  remember,"  he  said,  perplexedly. 
''But  I'm  shore  glad  I  killed  him." 

Then,  again,  silence  fell.  There  could  be  no  tri- 
umph really  over  the  death  of  Hodges,  because  it 
had  involved  the  destruction  of  Plutina  as  well.  The 
five  men  stood  about  awkwardly.  The  solemnity 
of  death  lay  like  a  pall  over  them.  In  the  stress  of 
suffering,  Zeke  had  moved  on  from  youth  to  the  full 
stature  of  manhood.  Uncle  Dick  had  added  a  score 
of  years  to  his  apparent  age.  Brant  grieved  much, 
if  less  seriously.  Only  the  veteran  and  the  marshal 
had  escaped  personal  loss,  though  they,  too, 
mourned  deeply.  None  ventured  to  suggest  leaving 
the  doomed  spot.  It  seemed  as  if  a  sinister  spell 
held  them  there,  vaguely  expectant,  though  wistful 
to  flee. 


/  ] 


26o       HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

Rather,  perhaps,  it  was  their  sadness  that  made 
seem  sinister  a  spell  actually  benignant.  For,  of  a 
sudden,  while  they  still  stood  mute.  Brant  raised  a 
hand  to  command  attention,  and  pointed  toward 
the  verge  of  the  precipice. 
/'HsLvkr  he  commanded. 

They  listened  intently.  Then,  all  heard  a  faint, 
tremulous,  whimpering  note,  long  drawn-out,  queru- 
lously appealing.  Zeke  started  and  stared  in  the  di- 
rection of  the  sound  with  an  incredulous  frown. 
Brant  shook  his  head  sorrowfully:  it  was  not  the 
voice  of  Jack.  The  others  were  merely  bewildered 
by  this  unexpected  development. 

The  whining  continued,  grew  louder.  Came  a 
plaintive  yelp.  Out  of  the  abyss  was  thrust  a  cling- 
ing paw,  another.  The  squat  face  of  the  bull-ter- 
rier peered  at  them  from  over  the  top  of  the  cliff. 
Next  instant,  the  dog  had  scrambled  safely  on  the 
Slide.  It  raced  to  Zeke  with  shrill  cries  of  delight, 
leaped  high  to  its  master's  breast,  where  it  was 
caught  and  held  closely.  The  slavering  tongue  lav- 
ished caresses.  Zeke  felt  a  warm  glow  of  comfort 
in  the  creature's  return.  Yet,  it  did  but  render 
more  frightful  the  loss  of  that  being  so  infinitely 
more  precious.  He  hardly  heard  Uncle  Dick  speak- 
ing. 

"Hit's  dum  curi's,"  the  old  man  said,  lowering 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE       261 

on  Seth  Jones.  "I  thought  as  how  ye  said  the  pup 
was  a-hangin'  on  to  Tiny's  dress." 

*Tt  was  so,"  the  veteran  answered.  "I  'low  the 
dawg  must  'a'  let  loose  when  hit  got  in  the  air." 

"'Hit's  dum  curi's,"  Uncle  Dick  repeated,  and 
turned  to  regard  the  bull-terrier  with  bent  brows. 

Zeke  himself  put  a  term  to  the  mystification  that 
had  gripped  him  as  well  as  the  others.  He  raised  a 
hand  to  the  dog's  throat,  to  restrain  the  too  eager 
demonstrations  of  affection.  At  the  collar  he  felt 
something  unaccustomed.  He  looked,  idly  enough, 
and  saw  that  a  leathern  thong  had  been  tied  firmly 
in  the  ring.  To  the  thong  was  attached  a  little 
leather  bag.  The  things  were  strange  to  him,  yet 
they  moved  him  profoundly.  He  found  himself 
trembling — why,  he  knew  not. 

He  fumbled  at  the  draw-strings  of  the  pouch, 
loosened  them.  He  thrust  a  finger  within  the  open- 
ing, and  touched  something  smooth  and  hard.  It 
seemed  to  him  that  he  already  knew  what  this  thing 
m.ust  be.  He  turned  the  bag  upside  down  over  his 
hand.  In  his  palm  lay  a  small  coffee-colored  piece 
of  stone.  It  bore  in  darker  shade  the  clear  tracery 
of  a  cross.  Zeke,  looking  down,  saw  the  sacred 
symbol  subtly  effulgent,  a  holy  promise  of  safety 
for  her  whom  he  loved.  He  lifted  a  radiant  face 
to  the  others,  who  had  crowded  about  with  marvel- 
ing exclamations. 


262      HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

"Hit's  the  fairy  cross  I  give  Tiny,"  Zeke  cried. 
His  voice  was  joyous  now,  though  throbbing  with 
anxiety.  ''She  hain't  dead.  She's  kotched  some- 
how thar  on  the  rocks.  She  kain't  climb  up.  So, 
she  sent  the  cross  by  Chubbie,  to  show  she  was 
ahve.     I'll  go  down  fer  her." 

The  listening  group  readily  understood  the  won- 
der that  had  befallen.  Whatever  her  present  peril, 
whatever  her  injuries,  Plutina  still  lived.  The 
blessed  fact  stirred  them  to  joy  and  to  orderly  ac- 
tion. 

"Ye  kain't  he'p  Tiny  none  by  fallin'  into  the 
Kittle  yerself,"  Uncle  Dick  declared,  with  the  voice 
of  authority.  "Jest  hold  yer  bosses,  an'  we'll  he'p  ye 
git  'er  up  safe  an'  sound.  They's  grape-vines 
'nough  in  the  grove.  I  suspicion  she  hain't  so  fer 
down.  Mebby  we  could  hear  'er  if  the  wind  wa'n't 
blowin'  to  the  no'th." 

They  dared  not  take  time  for  descent  into  the 
valley  after  rope.  Moreover,  Uncle  Dick  was  con- 
fident that  his  knots  would  hold  securely  the  weight 
of  a  single  person.  With  all  speed,  strands  of  vine 
were  brought  and  spliced  most  carefully.  In  a  sur- 
prisingly brief  time,  there  were  some  seventy-five 
feet  in  readiness.  More  would  be  added,  if  this 
length  should  not  suffice.  When  the  rope  was  com- 
pleted, an  end  was  securely  fastened  about  Zeke's 
body  with  knots  that  would  neither  tighten  nor  slip. 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE       263 

The  young  man  had  removed  shoes  and  stock- 
ings, and  now  walked  boldly  down  the  sloping  sur- 
face toward  the  brink.  Behind  him  went  Uncle 
Dick,  who  was  to  advance  as  far  as  his  foothold 
should  be  secure.  On  the  level  above  the  Slide,  the 
three  other  men  held  the  rope,  ready  to  pay  it  out, 
or  to  haul  it  in.  Uncle  Dick's  duty  was  to  save  it, 
so  far  as  might  be,  from  being  frayed  on  the  rocks. 
It  was  to  be  let  out  to  its  full  length,  or  until  the 
lightened  weight  showed  that  Zeke  had  found  sup- 
port. It  was  to  be  pulled  in,  in  the  latter  case,  after 
three  tugs  on  it  by  him.  Zeke  went  boldly,  it  is 
true,  but  now,  since  he  had  appreciated  Uncle  Dick's 
warning,  he  went  with  painstaking  carefulness  as 
well.  He  realized  that  on  his  care  might  now  depend 
the  life  of  the  girl  he  loved.  So,  he  moved  down- 
ward with  increasing  slowness,  as  the  curve  of  the 
rock  grew  more  pronounced.  At  each  step,  he  made 
sure  that  his  feet  still  clung.  Then,  when  still  two 
yards  from  the  edge,  he  found  the  footing  too  pre- 
carious for  further  walking,  even  with  the  rope. 
A  glance  over  his  shoulder  showed  that  Uncle  Dick 
had  halted  a  rod  above.  He  looked  closely  and  saw 
that  the  brim  of  the  cliff  was  smooth  a  little  to  the 
right.  To  save  the  rope  as  much  as  possible,  he 
moved  in  this  direction,  Uncle  Dick  above  making 
the  like  change.     Then,  he  seated  himself  on  the 


264       HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

rock  and,  while  the  men  above  paid  out  the  vine,  he 
went  gently  sliding  downward  toward  the  abyss. 

Presently,  his  feet  reached  the  brow  of  the  cliff, 
passed  beyond  it,  hung  in  space.  The  men  watch- 
ing from  above,  let  the  rope  slide  still  more  slowly. 
Now  his  middle  was  at  the  brink.  He  held  to  the 
rope  with  his  right  hand.  With  his  left  he  fended 
himself  from  the  cliff.  He  looked  down.  For  an 
instant,  accustomed  though  he  was  to  the  high 
places  among  the  mountain  crags,  his  senses  reeled 
before  the  impression  of  unsubstantial  vastness.  Out 
beyond  him  was  nothingness  for  what  seemed  end- 
less distance.  Straight  below  was  the  sheer  wall  of 
the  precipice,  with  hardly  a  rift  for  five  hundred 
feet.  There  a  ledge  showed  dimly.  Then,  again, 
a  half-thousand  feet  of  vertical  rocks  to  the  valley. 

But  the  vertigo  passed  in  that  single  instant.  His 
vision  cleared.  And  he  saw  her.  He  heard  her,  too, 
in  the  same  moment.  Here,  the  cliff  was  not  quite 
perpendicular.  She  had  slid,  rather  than  fallen,  to  a 
resting  place.  She  was  not  seriously  injured.  It 
was  hardly  a  score  of  feet  from  the  top  of  the  cliff 
to  the  tiny  shelf  of  rock  on  which  she  lay.  This 
was  less  than  a  yard  in  width.  A  bit  of  pine  shruH 
jutted  from  it  courageously,  held  by  its  roots  bur- 
rowing in  secret  fissures  of  the  rock.  A  log,  rolled 
down  by  some  amusement-seeker  on  the  crest,  had 
lodged  on  the  outer  edge  of  the  shelf.    The  minia- 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE       265 

ture  pine  held  one  end  of  it ;  the  other  was  wedged 
in  a  crack  of  the  precipice.  The  log  lay  like  a  pal- 
ing to  the  narrow  shelf.  Within  that  meager  shel- 
ter, Plutina  crouched.  Beyond  her  the  ledge  nar- 
rowed, and  ascended  to  where  the  cliff  was  broken. 
Thus  the  dog  had  mounted. 

The  girl's  face  was  uplifted,  pallid,  with  burning 
eyes  fast  on  the  lover  who  descended  to  her.  Her 
expression  showed  rapture,  but  no  surprise  that 
this  rescuer  should  be  her  beloved.  The  fairy  crys- 
tal was  competent  to  work  any  wonder.  Zeke, 
spinning  slowly  with  the  twisting  vine,  thus  swing- 
ing in  the  void  between  heaven  and  earth,  felt, 
nevertheless,  the  thrill  of  passionate  adoration.  She 
was  even  more  beautiful  than  he  remembered  her. 

The  shelf,  though  narrowing,  ran  toward  him. 
Soon,  his  feet  touched  it.  At  the  relief  from  his 
weight,  the  rope  w^as  no  longer  paid  out,  though  held 
taut.  With  its  aid  he  traversed  the  ledge,  and 
reached  the  shelf  where  the  girl  knelt.  He  knelt 
beside  her,  and,  without  a  word,  their  lips  met  and 
clung.  There,  amid  the  perils  of  the  precipice,  they 
were  in  heaven. 

For  that  matter,  little  speech  passed  between  them 
afterward.  There  needed  none.  Zeke  adjusted  the 
rope  about  her,  kissed  her,  and  gave  the  signal  to 
haul  away. 

With  his  heart  in  his  eyes,  he  watched  the  sway- 


266       HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

ing  form  rise,  and  was  inexpressibly  relieved  when 
he  saw  her  clear  the  brim  safely.  There  was  a  short 
interval.  Then  the  rope  came  dangling  down,  and 
drew  him  back  to  safety.  Again  the  lovers  were  in 
each  other's  arms.  The  terror  and  the  agony  were 
forgotten.     The  bliss  remained. 


1i 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

MARSHAL  Stone  and  Brant  were  to  return 
together  to  North  Wilkesboro'  where  the 
latter  would  take  the  train  for  home. 
Uncle  Dick  had  offered  them  horses  for  the  ride. 
The  two  men,  somewhat  in  advance  of  the  remain- 
der of  the  party  after  the  descent  of  Stone  Moun- 
tain, had  come  near  the  Higgins'  cabin,  when  the 
marshal  spoke  with  a  display  of  embarrassment: 

"I've  got  to  go  a  little  out  of  our  way.  It's  a 
chore  I  oughtn't  ever  to  have  put  off  for  a  minute, 
but  I  plumb  forgot  it." 

"What  is  it?"    Brant  asked  indifferently. 

But  his  interest  was  aroused  as  the  marshal  hes- 
itated before  answering,  and  exhibited  an  increasing 
confusion. 

"I'm  right  ashamed  to  tell  of  it,"  Stone  said, 
finally.  "There's  no  excuse  for  such  carelessness. 
Plutina  got  into  all  this  mess  because  she  was 
afraid  something  dreadful  might  happen,  and  it 
might  have — on  account  of  my   forget  fulness." 

"What's  it  all  about?"  Brant  demanded,  now 
distinctly  curious. 

267 


268       HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

'Tt's  bear-traps!"  was  the  morose  answer. 

''Bear-traps  ?" 

The  marshal  nodded. 

'Those  infernal  traps  Hodges  set  along  Thunder 
Branch — that  made  Plutina  turn  informer.  .  .  . 
Well,  I  just  naturally  forgot  all  about  'em." 

Brant  uttered  an  ejaculation  of  dismay. 

"You  mean,  they're  still  there,  and  set?" 

Stone  nodded. 

"Just  that.  I  took  Hodges  and  York  down  an- 
other way.  "I've  never  thought  of  the  traps  since, 
till  to-day." 

"Risky,  of  course,"  Brant  admitted.  "But  no- 
body got  caught,  or  they'd  have  been  missed,"  he 
added  comfortingly.  "Nobody  in  the  neighbor- 
hood's disappeared,  has  there?" 

"Not  that  I've  heard  of,"  Stone  replied.  "^But 
it's  luck,  not  my  deserts,  if  no  harm's  been  done." 

"I'll  go  along  with  you,"  Brant  offered.  "We'll 
have  that  trouble  off  your  mind  in  a  jiffy." 

So,  the  two  men  turned,  and  took  the  trail  past 
the  Higgins'  clearing  and  on  until  they  came  to 
Thunder  Branch,  where  Plutina  had  made  her  dis- 
covery. They  followed  the  course  of  the  stream 
upward,  the  marshal  in  the  lead.  As  he  came  to  the 
bend,  where  the  rocky  cliffs  began.  Stone  turned  and 
called  over  his  shoulder: 

"They're  just  beyond."    Then,  he  went  forward, 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE       269 

with  quick,  nervous  strides,  and  disappeared  be- 
yond the  bend.  A  moment  later,  a  great  cry 
brought  Brant  running. 

It  was,  in  truth,  a  ghastly  scene  that  showed 
there,  lighted  brilliantly  by  the  noontide  sun.  In 
the  midst  of  the  little  space  of  dry  ground  border- 
ing the  stream,  where  the  lush  grass  grew  thick 
and  high,  the  body  of  a  man  was  lying.  It  was 
contorted  grotesquely,  sprawling  at  length  on  its 
face,  in  absolute  stillness — the  stillness  of  death. 
Brant,  himself  horrified,  looked  pityingly  at  the 
white,  stricken  face  of  the  marshal,  and  turned  away, 
helplessly.  He  could  find  no  words  to  lessen  the 
hideousness  of  this  discovery  for  the  man  through 
whose  fault  the  tragedy  had  come. 

Then,  presently,  as  Stone  seemed  paralyzed  by 
the  disaster.  Brant  went  closer  to  examine  the  grue- 
some thing. 

The  victim  had  been  caught  by  both  traps.  Ev- 
idently, he  had  stepped  fairly  into  the  first.  Then, 
as  the  great  jaws  snapped  shut  on  his  leg,  he  had 
lurched  forward  and  fallen.  His  arms  were  out- 
spread wide.  But  his  head  was  within  the  second 
trap.  The  jaws  of  it  had  clamped  on  the  neck.  The 
steel  fangs  were  sunk  deep  into  the  flesh.  Blood 
from  the  wounds  was  caked  black  on  the  skin. 

**He  didn't  suffer  any  to  speak  of,"  Brant  re- 
marked, at  last.     He  observed,  with  some  surprise. 


270      HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

that  his  voice  was  very  thin.  He  was  not  a  squeam- 
ish man,  and  he  had  seen  many  evil  sights.  But 
this — 

With  repugnance,  he  set  himself  to  the  task  of  re- 
leasing the  trap  that  held  the  dead  man's  head.  He 
had  the  delicacy  not  to  call  on  his  distressed  com- 
panion for  aid.  The  task  was  very  difficult,  and 
very  gruesome,  for  it  required  harsh  handling  of 
the  head,  which  was  in  the  way.  Finally,  how- 
ever, the  thing  was  accomplished.  The  savage  jaws 
were  freed  from  the  flesh  they  had  mangled,  and 
were  locked  open.  Then,  Brant  turned  the  body 
over,  and  gazed  curiously,  with  strong  repulsion, 
into  the  ugly,  distorted  dead  face. 

"Providence  picked  out  somebody  who  could  be 
spared,"  he  mused  grimly. 

There  came  another  cry  from  Stone.  In  it  were 
wonder,  incredulity,  relief. 

Brant  regarded  the  marshal  in  amazement.  The 
man  was  transformed.  The  motionless  figure  of 
desolation  was  become  one  of  wild,  quivering  excite- 
ment. The  face  was  suffused  with  blood,  the  eyes 
shining  fiercely. 

"What  the  devil!"  Brant  demanded,  aghast. 

Stone  looked  toward  his  questioner  gravely,  and 
nodded  with  great  emphasis.  His  voice  was  low, 
tense  with  emotion. 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE       271 

"It  is  the  devil!"  he  answered  solemnly.  He 
paused,  clearing  his  throat,  and  stared  again  at  the 
dead  man.  Then,  his  eyes  went  back  to  Brant,  as 
he  added : 

"It's  Hodges." 

There  was  a  little  silence.  Brant  could  not  under- 
stand, could  not  believe  this  startling  assertion  flung 
in  his  face. 

"But  Hodges  was  thrown  over  the  precipice,"  he 
said,  at  last. 

The  marshal  shook  his  head.  There  was  defiance 
now  in  his  aspect — defiance,  and  a  mighty  joy. 

"It  doesn't  make  any  difTerence  about  that,"  he 
announced.     "This  is  Hodges !" 

Then,  his  exultation  burst  in  words: 

"Hodges  caught  in  his  own  traps!  His  neck 
broken,  as  it  should  have  been  broken  by  the  rope 
for  the  murders  he's  done !  It  was  my  carelessness 
did  it,  yes.  But  I  don't  care  now,  so  long  as  it's 
Hodges  who's  got  caught.  Hodges  set  those  traps, 
and — there  he  is!  .  .  .  I  read  about  something 
like  that  once  in  a  story.  They  called  it  'poetic 
justice.'  " 

"He  don't  look  like  a  poem,"  Brant  remarked. 
He  turned  from  the  gory  corpse  with  a  shudder  of 
disgust. 

"Thank  God,  it  was  Hodges!"  the  marshal  said, 


2^2      HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

reverently.     "Anybody  else  would  have  haunted  me 
for  life.    But  Hodges!    Why,  I'm  glad!" 


The  affair  was  easily  explicable  in  the  light  of 
what  Plutina  had  to  tell.  Hodges,  undoubtedy, 
had  knowedge  of  some  secret,  hazardous  path  down 
the  face  of  the  precipice  past  the  Devil's  Cauldron, 
and  on  to  the  valley.  He  had  meant  to  flee  by  it 
with  Plutina,  thus  to  escape  the  hound.  By  it,  he 
had  fled  alone.  Perhaps,  he  had  had  a  hiding-place 
for  money  somewhere  about  the  raided  still.  Or, 
perhaps,  he  had  merely  chosen  this  route  along 
Thunder  Branch  on  his  way  to  an  asylum  beyond 
Bull  Head  Mountain.  What  was  certain  was  that 
he  had  blundered  into  his  own  pitiless  snares, 
Naturally,  he  would  have  had  no  suspicion  that  the 
traps  remained.  In  his  mad  haste,  he  had  rushed 
heedlessly  upon  destruction.  The  remorseless  en- 
gines of  his  own  devising  had  taken  full  toll  of 
him.  By  his  own  act,  he  paid  with  his  life  the  penalty 
for  crime.  There  was  propriety  in  the  marshal's 
reference  to  poetic  justice. 

A  certain  vindictiveness  showed  in  Plutina's 
comment  concerning  the  death  of  the  man  at  whose 
hands  she  had  so  suffered. 

"His  bein'  so  afeared  o'  thet-thar  thing  kep'  'im 
from  hurtin'  me,"  she  said,  reflectively.     "He  was 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE       273 

shorely  sot  ag'inst  havin'  'is  neck  bruk,  an',  arter 
all,  thet's  jest  what  he  got."  She  smiled,  con- 
tentedly. For  Plutina  was  a  primitive  woman, 
strong  in  her  love,  and  strong  in  her  hate. 


It  was  a  day  of  early  autumn.  The  timber  rights 
had  been  secured  to  the  satisfaction  of  Sutton.  The 
tree-nail  factory  was  being  built.  Zeke  was  be- 
come a  man  of  importance  in  the  region. 

The  lover's  wedding-day  was  less  than  a  month 
distant.  To-day,  Plutina  had  been  for  a  visit  to 
the  Widow  Higgins,  and  now  Zeke  was  walking 
home  with  her.  They  paused  at  the  place  where 
had  been  their  meeting  on  the  morning  of  the  lad's 
first  adventuring  into  the  w^orld.  Memories  flooded 
them,  as  they  looked  across  the  valley  to  the  bleak 
cliffs  of  Stone  Mountain,  which  rose  in  aged,  rugged 
grandeur,  softened  in  this  hour  by  the  veils  of  haze, 
warmed  with  the  lambent  hues  of  sunset. 

In  answer  to  Plutina,  Zeke  shook  his  head  per- 
plexedly. 

*T  kain't  quite  stomach  thet-thar  yarn  o'  Seth 
Jones's,"  he  said.  ''As  I  remember,  Dan  Hodges 
threw  me — hard !"  He  grinned  wryly  at  the  recol- 
lection. 'T  don't  see  how  I  could  have  thrown  him 
off  the  Slide." 

"But  of  course  you  did !"  Plutina  asserted,  with 


/' 


274      HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE 

great  spirit.  "Pooh!  Ye  could  lick  Dan  Hodges 
any  day  in  the  week.  An'  Seth  saw  ye — that  settles 
hit !" 

*I  suppose  so,"  Zeke  conceded.  "But  Dan  Hodges 
was  a  powerful  fighter.  After  all,  I  didn't  do  any- 
thing much  for  ye,  Tiny"  he  added,  with  regret  in 
his  voice. 

The  girl  was  all  indignation. 

"Why,  Zeke !"  she  cried.  "The  idea !  Ye  did  hit 
all.  Ye  banged  the  love  o'  ye  into  thet-thar  dawg, 
what  hung  on  to  me  an'  brung  up  the  fairy  cross 
fer  a  message."  Chubbie,  as  if  understanding, 
leaped  to  lick  her  hand.  "An'  ye  give  me  the 
cross,  Zeke.  Mebby,  thet's  what  saved  me,  all  the 
time — thar  on  the  precipice,  an' — an'  back  thar — 
in  the  cave — with  him.  An'  then  ye  threw  Dan 
Hodges  right  offen  the  mounting.  Seth  Jones  seen 
ye  do  hit !" 

It  seemed  to  Zeke  that  he  must  perforce  accept  the 
heroism  thrust  upon  him,  though  a  doubt  still  lin- 
gered. Still,  his  memory  of  the  fight  was  confused. 
Perhaps,  after  all,  he  had — . 

Zeke  broke  off,  and  drew  the  girl  close.  Their 
lips  met  gently,  tenderly,  with  the  clinging  of  pas- 
sion. What  mattered  the  history  of  evil  days  ?  They 
were  past.  Before  them  lay  the  future,  radiant 
with  rosy  promise.  In  this  blessed  present,  they 
were  together.     Love  thrilled  exquisitely  on  their 


HEART  OF  THE  BLUE  RIDGE       275 

lips ;  more  exquisitely  in  their  souls.  That  love  was, 
and  it  would  remain,  a  noble  and  precious  thing, 
great  and  very  beautiful,  as  mighty  and  firm  as 
the  mountain  looming  yonder  in  immutable  serenity 
and  strength,  as  loyal,  as  enduring.  .  .  .  They 
walked  on  together,  infinitely  content. 


